


Equivalent Exchange

by MajixTrixx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A little angst, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Deathly Hallows compliant, M/M, MasterOfDeath!Harry, Not Epilogue Compliant, Slow Build, Slow build apparently, eventual slash, grey!Harry, just a little though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-17 00:06:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 39,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4645044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajixTrixx/pseuds/MajixTrixx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bonds between Lord Voldemort and Harry ran impossibly deep, bound as tightly as fate would allow, and the ancient Immortal should've known that, in at least one universe, Death would not be the end for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Since the first three chapters of this have already been posted on FF, I probably won't have much to say for author's notes until chapter four.
> 
> This work is dedicated to my friend Kendra and the (very lovely) NVCiel.

The laws of magic were not so complicated as many would like to believe. They existed as a guideline, steady and rippling, never quite the same for each witch or wizard.

Transfiguration for example. Any magical being could take a match stick and Transfigure it into a quill, that much has always been obvious, but how many witches or wizard's could take that same match stick and turn it into a full grown Oak? It was virtually impossible, not because the tree was a living being, but because the offering wasn't big enough. It wasn't equivalent.

That was not to say that the offering always had to be the same, as Lady Magic was indeed generous to her children, some more so than others. However, as time passed and those of magical blood began to forget to thank their Mother, she too began to grow weary of being generous.

And so, the days of truly incredible magic began to fade. But as all beings know, there are always exceptions, to each and every rule, and on the rare days when Lady Magic thought of all her children used to be capable of, she became generous once more.

In this case, however, nobody could have guessed the lengths that the ripples of time would reach. Nobody could've known how the simple lives of the Peverells would touch those of the future. The ripples of greatness.

Terrible, perhaps, but great.

* * *

**March 13th, 2009**

"Do souls really exist?"

The figure across the room looked to the dark haired wizard, appearing both surprised and knowing. Truth be told, he'd been expecting to have this conversation for some time, though he had not thought to approach the subject on his own terms. The ancient being had long ago decided that it would be better for Harry to ask, and for him to answer.

Not that the immortal wished to hide things from The-Boy-Who-Lived. He was not like the late Albus Dumbledore, manipulating the secrets behind the veil, but the Ancient was also unwilling to open doors for those that had no idea of their existence. It remained much more simple to wait, to watch and learn and speak when necessary.

But the question itself was unsurprising. Harry had appeared troubled for days, rarely speaking, and the elder had mentally prepared himself. There was no doubt that Harry Potter was brave, but unlike his previous years, the youth had learned to think before his lips parted. It had taken a total of six days for the raven haired teen to speak up. It was the lengthy wait that sparked curiosity within the Ancient, and he knew without a doubt that the conversation that was sure to follow would affect the timeline like nothing else ever had.

"I thought that you of all people would know the answer to that, Harry."

The messy haired teen huffed in frustration, "For once, can you just answer my question?"

The undefined being smiled at the young wizard's boldness, staring at him with obvious endearment, "Yes, the soul exists."

It was at this point that Death expected the youngest Potter to continue on with his questioning, but it never came. The teen lapsed back in to silence once more and made his way from the room, not bothering to say farewell to his constant companion, as he knew the elder would inevitably follow.

For that was the thing about being the Master of Death, he was never far behind.

* * *

**January 2003**

Over the years that'd followed the end of the war, Harry slowly distanced himself from the company of those around him. It was difficult, to be as he was. His life with Ginny was not as the raven haired teen had imagined it. She was clingy, caught up in the past and what could have been. The careless young spirit that'd first stolen his heart was gone, replaced with something serious and uninspired.

Harry, victor of the war, Savior of the Wizarding world, had not sought his fame after the defeat of Lord Voldemort. It was this that lead the war against his relationship with the youngest Weasley, and the result did not disappoint.

Ginerva Weasley soon decided that they were not meant to be, choosing instead to focus on her career rather than a relationship with the-boy-who-lived. She chose to follow her dream of becoming a professional Quidditch player for the Hollyhead Harpies.

The blow had been damaging at best.

With his world turned upside down, Harry turned himself away from the world, content to drown in his misery, his confusion, until his stories, along with his very name, were more embellished legend than anything. Harry's entire life had been planned from the beginning, Severus Snape alone had proved that much to be true, and without Ginny, the teen savior wasn't sure where to go or what to do with his life.

While hunting Horcruxes, he'd held onto the idea of their love, of their life after the war and the relationship they would have, but that was gone.

From the moment Harry Potter had been introduced to the wizarding world, he'd been held up as a symbol. As the boy had grown into a teen, and later into a man, he'd been shaped for war, made to believe that he was meant for nothing else.

With the threat of Voldemort vanquished, Harry Potter had lost his purpose.

It'd been suggested to Harry on many occasions that he should become an auror. He'd entertained the idea more than once but regardless of how the Savior chose to spend his time, he could not do away with the feeling that something inside of him had died that fateful day all those years ago. Harry could not escape the unforgiving feeling that, in killing Lord Voldemort, he had killed himself as well.

And so, it began, as all things do, with an idea; a simple little idea that would change everything.

That, perhaps, killing Voldemort hadn't been the right thing to do.

Of course, at the time, he'd needed to be stopped. The sanity of his mind had deteriorated beyond anything that the dark haired teen cared to imagine, but Voldemort had not always been this way. Once upon a time, Tom Riddle was a brilliant boy with an vision to change the world. He'd been the very definition of Slytherin, cunning down to the core, brimming with charm and unshakable ambition.

He would bring balance back into the world in the form of his darkness. He couldn't help being a dark wizard any more than Harry could help being right handed, but somewhere along the way, something went wrong. The Horcruxes would always be partially to blame for that insanity, but the more Harry considered it, the more he believed that they hadn't been the only catalyst. During his journey, the Dark Lord had encountered something that changed everything that turned him to the path of true darkness.

In the eyes of this thought, curiosity grew.

He became obsessed with finding the answer to something he couldn't even name, a question that he didn't know the words for. Harry wasn't sure what he was looking for, if anything at all. There was no telling if his restless psyche would eventually wield the questionless answers that he sought, or even if the discovery of such a thing would quench the insatiable thirst within his heart.

It began small.

Harry sought out all the material he could find on the most recent Dark Lord of history, but to his surprise, there was very little to be found. For as much terror as Voldemort caused, he was mentioned very little.

Aside from the late Albus Dumbledore, next to nobody knew anything of Lord Voldemort. His name had been expunged from all newly printed history books. He was referred to only as "He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named". There wasn't a single mention of Voldemort, or his lesser known name, Tom Riddle.

It was then that the true adventure began.

For the first time in five years, Harry left Grimmuald Place behind. He traced the steps of Tom Riddle, trying to piece together the broken and muddied steps of the Dark Lord's life with his own path.

The Orphanage that'd once been Tom's home was gone, just as he'd known it would be, but as Harry stood among the over abundance of dead grass, he could feel the anger. The raven haired teen could feel the subtle ripples of past magic that'd stubbornly clung to the land, turning the ground sour, making it impossible for anything to flourish there.

It reminded Harry of the Dursleys.

* * *

**April 7th, 2009**

"What happens to souls that've been split?"

The ever-changing eyes of an ancient immortal looked up to meet those of the Killing Curse, taking in the set look on the boy's face.

It'd been almost three weeks since Harry had last inquired about the soul, but Death wasn't surprised in the least. Very little managed to surprise the dark entity, and though Harry was amusing, and often quite unpredictable, the Ancient had been expecting a follow up since their first conversation.

"Pardon?"

Harry cast the elder an unappreciative look and crossed his arms, "Don't pretend like you don't know."

A satisfied smirk graced the immortal's lips as he laid his book flat and looked to the younger wizard.

"After death you mean?"

Pink lips thinned and the raven haired teen said nothing, but the silence spoke volumes.

"You know that I can't reveal what lies on the other side, Harry."

The green eyed wizard huffed in obvious disappointment but rather than leaving as he did last time, chose to sit across from the black clad immortal, "That's not what I'm asking."

Death raised an eyebrow in silent question.

Harry sighed, almost as if he were annoyed at having to explain himself to a being that'd been around since the dawn of time.

"Does it.. you know, stay fractured?"

Understanding quickly came to the white haired immortal in an instant, and he offered the obviously uncomfortable wizard a smile, "No, it does not."

Twin brows raised in surprise, and Death couldn't help but to feel particularly amused by the dark haired teen's reaction.

"What happens to it then?"

Death cast him an endearing look before returning to his previously neglected book, his eyes taking in the words while also managing to catch the way Harry grit his teeth in unmistakable irritation, "You already know."

Aggravation lingered heavily within the air, and as Harry parted his lips to respond with something sharp the immortal sighed and looked up at him over the pages of a book that he'd no doubt already read.

"When you awoke in King 's Cross, what did you find?"

Avada Kadavra eyes darkened with thought, "Dumbledore."

Death shook his head, "Before that."

Harry considered his brief time within the startling white expanse of the in-between. Though it stood out stark in his mind and there was no mistaking it, there was also an air of surreal-like reality to it. Like a half remembered dream.

"I saw Voldemort. That piece of his soul."

The ancient immortal shook his head, laying the book flat once more as he prepared to explain the nature of souls to the teenage wizard.

"Each soul is unique, but all souls are whole and unbroken when they are received by this world."

Harry nodded in understanding and the elder continued.

"The most basic sense of the philosophy is that what goes must eventually return. This is true for magic as well, but where as magic may return in bits and fragments, souls must return whole."

"What you saw that day in King's Cross Station was not the fragment of Tom Riddle's soul that resided in your scar. It was the collective pieces of soul waiting in the in-between."

Harry stared into the face of the fire, watching as the flames licked at the wood, consuming it with heat and merciless nature as he pondered the Ancient's words.

"So Voldemort would've had to wait until all his Horcruxes were destroyed to go to the beyond?"

Death nodded and went to pick up his book, but Harry stopped him with a look, "Does that mean that his soul has gone into the afterlife?"

"It means that he is whole."

The cryptic nature of Death's answer left him less than satisfied, but rather than allowing the light haired being see his frustration Harry stood from his perched seat. Just as before, the green eyed wizard choose to make his way from the room rather than try and pry answers from the tight lipped immortal.

Time would eventually tell him all that he needed to know, regardless of whether or not Death saw fit to aid his search.

July 19th, 2004

Albania proved to be a place of magical history. Though Dumbledore had mentioned it to The-Boy-Who-Lived during one of their many conversations on the Dark Lord he hadn't gone into specifics. Little was spoken of what Tom Riddle had found during his time there, and the longer Harry avoided the foreign nation, the more his curious obsession grew.

The dark haired wizard was surprised to learn that the area was blanketed by forests and mountains. It was a land of diverse wildlife, and unquestionable magical potential.

He'd had trouble at first, navigating through the lands on his own. The biggest issue though proved to be the complications of differentiating language. There were two distinct dialects: Tosk, spoken in the south, and Ghen, spoken in the north, both Albanian in nature, but aside from that, there were also many people across the land that spoke a scatter of languages. Greek, Italian, speckles of English, as well as Macedonian, Romani, Serbian, and Aromanian. And within the more obscure parts of the nation, it made asking for directions nearly impossible.

It'd taken him quite some time to find the "cursed" mountains, and even longer to locate the forests where Voldemort had spent his time. Magical residue lingered heavily across the land, but the moment Harry set foot past the line of trees, he'd known where Tom Riddle had spent his time. The magical energy present within the wildlife there overwhelmed him, making his magical core sing with life and over-flowing excess.

It'd taken Harry over ten minutes to get past the unfamiliar flush of power.

It caressed his flesh like a living current, gliding effortlessly up and down his body with each and every step, the sheer magnetism of it drawing the teen deeper and deeper into the unending sea of green.

As time passed, darkness overcame, robbing the teen of his vision all together, but it mattered little. He'd continued on, guided only by the thick and steady thrum of pure magic.

Time lost all meaning, and after what could've been minutes, hours or days, Harry broke through the thick of the foliage.

He discovered himself at the edge of an absolutely perfect circle and there before his eyes stood the remains of a culture long lost, consumed by the passing of ages. It came in the form of a crumbling temple, the stones making up its structure, weathered with time and wear, the edges crumbled and broken, covered with moss. Sunlight streamed down on the ancient building, the sky impossibly clear above and Harry found himself unable to ignore the blissful peace that settled over him.

The magic was softer here, not as intense as before, but it held the promise of life just the same.

* * *

**April 20th, 2009**

"Why did you create the Hallows?"

For the first time since the questions had started, Death found himself thrown for a loop.

Of all the things Harry and the Immortal had talked about, everything from the ancient ways of the world, to the endless tales of the Roman empire, all the way to the truth behind Christianity, they had never spoken of the three magical items that brought them together and refused to leave Harry's company. It was an unspoken agreement among them, one of which that both parties were careful and considerate of. To hear the blunt question come from the teen's mouth left the ever-changing being very nearly startled.

Silence lingered between them as Death stood in the doorway, staring at the Gryffindor. He stood on the far side of the room, his back to the stunned Immortal. The teen's posture was strong, forced, as he looked to the ageless spines upon the shelves, listening for a response.

But what was there to say?

Humanity was boring, consumed with the need to seek and destroy. Below all the dignified responses, beneath the air of superiority and carefully maneuvered plans, laid a primal beast in wait, ready to take over at a moment's notice. They were animals, squabbling over territories and potential mates, struggling to come out on top.

But Harry..

Harry was something new, something beautiful to behold.

The wizard coexisted with his primal nature, in much the same way as a werewolf or a vampire would. He was a human child with the nature and the heart of a creature, a being that embraced what they were and what they could become without fear. Their encounter in Albania had proved that, but this was something different.

This was his civility stretched across the primal nature of his person.

The need for information, the quest to seek it out through basic human communication rather than manipulation and control. This was Harry taking control of himself, as well as his desires, rather than trying to control and manipulate the situation into yielding the results he wanted.

It was something that'd been lost to humanity as a whole for centuries. Millennia even.

"I didn't create them."

His companion spun around to face him, twin eyebrows raised in startled surprise at the Immortal's response, "You what?"

Death sighed, lingering on the edge of another lecture on his hatred of repeating himself. Though difficult to refrain, the Entity merely pushed himself from the doorway and approached his Master.

It was amazing that Harry managed not to run.

Even in humans, who had ignored their instincts from the moment it became convenient, the fight or flight instinct was strong.

Regardless of whether or not they knew what he was, most beings sensed that something was wrong with him, that if he was there, they shouldn't be. It was ingrained in their very DNA to flee from him, but Harry stood still, watching him approach.

Eyes the very shade of the killing curse stared up into the face of Death, and with the smile that accompanied that lingering gaze, the Ancient knew that he could not deny him the answer.

"They were made before my time, by my predecessor."

Confusion flickered across Harry's face, and a flush of amusement returned to the situation. Death would've been more surprised if his words had made sense to the teen.

"How can Death have a predecessor?"

The immortal gave his Master an endearing smile, "Not all things are as straight forward as they appear, young One."

"Isn't that the truth.."

Harry's grumbled sarcasm left the Ancient even more amused than before, "Power is a strange thing, Harry."

"Sometimes, it eats us from the inside."

The elder turned from his ward, his eyes seeking out the comforts of the flame. It danced upon the wood, working it down, turning the strong material to ash, consuming it whole.

"Is that a metaphor for greed?"

Death smirked and shook his head before claiming one of the warm leather chairs, "No. I mean it in the literal sense."

Harry seemed to move unconsciously as he moved to sit across from the watchful immortal. His confusion was obvious, written across his face more clearly than ink to parchment.

"To you, Death would be considered a spirit, a gift bestowed upon a select mortal being for the time being."

Harry frowned, "So you haven't been around since the dawn of time?"

Death laughed, "In a sense, yes, but the short answer is no." He smiled affectionately at the little mortal in front of him, "I was human once."

If it was possible for the Gryffindor's eyes to boggle any more, the Ancient was sure they would've, "Who were you?"

Mischief danced within the eyes of the elder as he took in the light of his companion's gaze, the sheer curiosity that'd consumed the mortal in a matter of seconds, "My name is Ignotus Peverell."

* * *

**July 19th, 2004**

It was hypnotizing, the way the magic coiled around him, caressing the Gryffindor's flesh as he made his way to the center of the grounds, keeping his eyes fixed upon the crumbling structure at its heart.

Despite the obvious decay in the framework, the ruins were enticing and all around, quite lovely. Age faded bricks were scattered with quilted patchworks of moss, coils of undisturbed ivy claiming the building for itself. The beauty of time, nature and magic had all come together to create the calm aura around the wizard, and Harry found himself pulled to the heart, the wizard's legs mindlessly guiding him through the crumbling halls of the enchanted structure.

Harry paid little mind to what laid around him, choosing instead to let the pleasant thrum of his magical core to guide his steps. Magic saturated the air as the green eyed wizard pressed on, making his skin tingle with raw energy as he drew closer to the source.

Crackles sparked and buzzed around the wizard as the gentle glow of light made itself known among the darkness. Harry quickened his pace, his chest heaving with exhilarated anticipation as he approached.

Despite being mere steps away from the piercing light, Harry couldn't see past the edges, couldn't see what was beyond. Curiosity clawed at the teen's heart and The-Boy-Who-Lived found himself unable to think of anything other than walking through the doorway, of seeing what laid beyond the darkness.

The crossing was almost painful. Harry could feel the flush of power against his magical core, the shock of raw power before everything stopped.

Green eyes fluttered open and Harry sighed in relief.

Magic still hung heavily in the air, but where as the temple had been clogged with it, making it almost impossible to breathe, the gently lit room was calm in nature. Harry could feel the healthy, full thrum of power from within, the replenished buzz from his magical core. It reminded him of Hogwarts, the feelings of warmth that washed over him in gentle waves, making him feel as though he belonged.

For the first time since entering the structure, Harry focused more on what surrounded him rather than how he felt.

Unlike the surrounding area, everything within the lit space was untouched by time. The stones holding the structure were strong, sturdy and unyielding, showing no signs of decay. It was clean and open, filled with sunlight but there were no windows, nothing that explained how the space was so brightly lit. Runes marked the wall, graphic depictions that the green eyed wizard had never seen before.

Harry had no problem admitting that runes weren't really his area of expertise but he'd never seen runes like these. They were detailed in a way that couldn't be explain, depicting a number of events. To the teen, they resembled hieroglyphs more than runes, but there was definitely an air of magic to them, a sense of purpose.

Undisturbed stretches of space made up most of the floor before abruptly coming to the foot of a small set of steps. It was what laid above them that left the teen speechless with undisguised wonder.

A rippling mirror stretched across the far end of the room. It resembled water more than glass, shallow ripples gliding across the surface and without having to approach, Harry knew that this was the source of magic he'd felt. The dark haired male could feel it as he concentrated on the ever changing surface. The urge to approach was more intense than ever, and without a thought, Harry slowly began making his way across the floor, weary of what lied ahead but unable to resist.

"I suppose that caution was never one of your strong suits."

Unadulterated panic gripped the teens heart at the unfamiliar voice, the speakers words immediately breaking his connection with the mirror, leaving the dark haired wizard alarmed and mildly confused.

Harry turned slowly, the heavy claws of worry making it hard to breathe as the teen faced his unnoticed companion.

The man before him stood within a particularly bright spot of sunlight, his features calm and nonthreatening, but there was something about the white haired male that Harry recognized as dangerous. Despite the magic surrounding them, the dark haired Gryffindor could feel the difference, the powerful aura of magic drifting from his nameless companion in thick, lazy waves.

He was, in Harry's opinion, quite beautiful. Normally, the younger wizard didn't tend to use the word beautiful as far as men were concerned, but there was really no other word to describe the stranger. He appeared absent of any and all color, making the high definition of his cheek bones and the regal curve of his nose stand out. The green eyed wizard was momentarily reminded of the Malfoys, the perfect posture combined with the aristocratic features that all purebloods seemed to share.

However, when Harry met the elder's eyes, he felt his breath catch. Small gold rings surrounded the swirling pools of his ever changing irises. Unnaturally smooth transitions shifted between warm melted amber and vibrant green, small dashes of silver and startling flashes of crimson, all dancing within his amused gaze. But under all the color, below the complexity of the stranger's gaze, Harry caught sight of something unbelievably ancient, something that'd bared consciousness across the many ages of this world.

The knowledge within those glowing orbs drew the wizard like a moth to flame and Harry found himself unable to stop from approaching his silent companion.

Gentle fingers reached out and clasped the teen's chin, turning his head to and fro as the white haired man looked him over, "I thought you'd be taller."

Despite the unusual position the young lion found himself in, Harry raised his eyebrows in question, "You know me?"

The immortal above him smirked in obvious amusement, "I don't think there's a witch or wizard that doesn't know your name, Harry Potter."

"But yes, I know you."

Harry frowned in both confusion and irritation at his fame before taking a step back from the white haired man, "Who are you?"

For the first time since his appearance, the white haired man moved from his chosen spot in the sun, walking towards the ancient steps before the mirror, "Don't be dull, Harry. You must've known that I'd come and see you sooner or later."

Twin brows knit together in confusion as Harry turned to watch the elder man, "Excuse me?"

A sigh of annoyance escaped the immortal's lips as he looked to his ward, "You possessed all three Hallows at once, and as such, became the Master of Death."

Though unspoken, Harry could hear the unspoken 'you idiot" tacked on to the end of the elder's statement, making him briefly think of Professor Snape before the gravity of his companion's words sunk in.

"You're -!"

Death smirked, "Yes," a mischievous grin capturing the immortal's lips as he turned from the gaping boy in favor of inspecting the rippling glass, "Very tricky artifact, this."

Curiosity briefly overwhelmed the teen's surprise as he quickly approached and looked up to the shifting surface, "You know what it is?"

A sharp laugh sounded beside him and the dark haired wizard looked up to find the elder smirking fondly down at him, "Of course I do, Young One."

Harry bristled at the mention of his age but quickly smoothed his metaphorical quills. To the being beside him, Harry was indeed quite young, a mere speck along the timeline of humanity. It was dizzying to think about.

"Well?"

Death considered the object for a moment before parting his lips to reply, "I believe your people would call it a Vita Vitrum. The Life Glass."

Harry took a step towards the enchanted surface, the warmth of his magical core drawn to it more than ever before long fingers wrapped unyieldingly around his wrist, "It is not wise, Harry."

The wizard in question looked up to the immortal, but his eyes were firmly placed on the gently shifting surface of the ancient glass, "You have already met one of its kin."

Brief remembrances of his encounters with mirrors and their like flashed across the teen's conscious before Dumbledore's voice drifted along his memory like a ghost, the connection instantly being made, "The Mirror of Erised."

Death nodded but said nothing.

Harry thought of his brief time with the object during his first year at Hogwarts. He remembered the flutter in his stomach when he'd first approached the ancient looking item, the breathtaking shock of seeing his parents smiling faces looking back at him as he approached the worn glass, and the startling surprise of being caught by Dumbledore.

_Men have wasted away in front of it.._

"So it shows you your heart's desire?"

Death cast the green eyed teen a small frown and shook his head, "I said that you'd met one of its kin, not that they were the same." Shifting eyes looked back up towards the pulling waves of the glass' surface, "This particular mirror shows the truth."

"The truth?"

The immortal hummed in agreement before crossing his arms over his chest, "It reflects the deepest truth within your heart. More often than not, it's something that you refuse to accept, something mortals push away or bury with denial. That can take many forms."

Harry nodded in understanding. It was subjective to change and managed to be exceedingly powerful by merely being so vague. Such a thing reminded Harry of a boggert, it could turn into anything, anything that you were afraid of, whether it be a giant spider, the full moon, or in Harry's case, a dementor. There's no telling what Harry would see if he decided to approach.

Though Death was holding his wrist, Harry was sure that if he so chose, the immortal would let him go, as long as the teen knew what he was getting himself in to.

He wondered idly just how many witches and wizards had stumbled upon this place. Were they still alive? And what did they see.

Voldemort himself had been here. Decades before Harry set foot in this magically intoxicating place, the young Tom Riddle walked these steps and gazed into that rippling surface. The darkest lord had wandered these woods, followed the flow of magic, he'd found the temple, found the mirror. Lord Voldemort had stared into it's surface and witnessed the darkest truth of his heart.

"You're thinking of him."

Harry tensed at the calmly spoken words but didn't contradict the immortal. There was no need to ask the ancient being who he was talking about or how he knew. Harry was almost positive that hew wouldn't receive an answer anyway, "What do you think he saw?"

Death's eyes darkened, "You already know."

The Gryffindor stared at the rippling surface of the mirror and as he thought about what he knew of Voldemort and his past, Harry was both startled and saddened to realize that he did know.

Lord Voldemort, the darkest wizard of their age, the most brilliant student to walk the halls of Hogwarts since the Founders, had stood before the glass as a sad and lonely orphan. He'd seen the boy that just wanted to be accepted by his peers, whether they be the cruel muggles of the orphanage or the merciless pureblood Slytherins of his own house. He saw the desire to stand out and make something of himself, to no longer be alone.

And Voldemort rejected it.

The dark realization pulled the wizard from the sadness that'd swamped his heart and just like that, Harry had the answer to his long sought question. This was what irrevocably changed Tom Riddle into Lord Voldemort.

Harry looked to the glass, his emotions rolling sharply beneath the surface, "So, you now understand."

Death looked down to the form of his mortal master, "Once you have seen the truth, there is no going back."

The ancient being turned his attention back to the mirror, "He could not accept what he saw. Though I have been around for many ages, I do not hesitate to admit that much of Tom Riddle remains a mystery to me."

Death frowned at the admission as though it left a bad taste in the immortal's mouth, "I do not know if he knew the truth behind the power this mirror contained or not, but I do know that the Dark Lord Voldemort sought to purge any relation to what he witnessed behind the glass. He went to the furthest stretches of the Earth, studied the darkest magic and forcibly ripped that humanity from himself. He refused to believe that such a weak creature could be him, regardless of whether or not it was only a tiny fraction of his identity."

Silence overtook the space between the two males but regardless of the ominous warning, Harry could not draw the curiosity from his heart.

It'd often been muttered throughout the halls of Hogwarts that bravery could easily be the same as stupidity, but as Harry gazed upon the waves of glass, he couldn't resist. He had to know what laid quiet and dormant within his heart.

Though, undoubtedly brave, a Gryffindor at heart, a flicker of fear darted through the conflicted teen. Voldemort had stood before this mirror as a young man, not long after he left Hogwarts, but Harry was more than a young man now. He'd seen the horrors of war, the blood of his kin across the stones of the beloved castle, he'd witnessed what it meant to die, and what it meant to save a life. Within his lifetime, Harry had been both a freak and a hero, a champion of the light, and a malicious liar seeking to bring down the ministry, a best friend and a godson, a pawn and a key player; he'd been abused, loved, abandoned and forgiven. He'd cried, cursed, smiled, and kissed. He was the Savior of the Wizarding World, and though Harry didn't exactly see himself as the hero the public proclaimed him to be, he'd still done all those things.

They were embedded upon his very soul, a scatter of scars lining the very foundation of his being. Whatever he witnessed within the reflection had the power to change his life forever, but the more Harry thought about it, the less anxious and unsure he became.

Such was a normality in his life. Did Dumbledore not hide the truth from him his entire life, choosing to reveal half spoken answers here and there until the whole of the picture was formed? For the first seventeen years of his life, Harry remained ignorant of himself and the full truth of his life. Year after year the headmaster had thrown something new at the Gryffindor, something that would undoubtedly made his world of understanding tilt.

This would be no different.

Harry gently pulled his wrist from the grasp of the immortal, mustering every scrap of his Gryffindor courage as he made those last few steps. The dark haired wizard wanted to look back, to question his companion before taking the last step but he couldn't. There would be no strength of will if his focus broke now.

Harry took a deep breath and took the final step towards the rippling glass, his eyes firmly squeezed shut before a warm and encouraging brush of magic extinguished the last of his fear, allowing the teen to gaze freely into his reflection.

For the briefest moment, Harry was almost certain that nothing had changed, that he was seeing himself merely as he was, that he accepted all aspects of himself, but the dark haired savior held his breath as the surface grew bright, the ripples among the glass momentarily angered into action before settling on a set image.

It was him, or rather, versions of himself.

There were five in all, each relatively similar in appearance but as Harry took in the details, he realized just how different they were.

The first was easily the most recognizable, a vision of his Slytherin alter ego. The snake wore pitch black robes, the Slytherin crest high and proud on his chest and where Harry would normally find himself smiling, this version of himself seemed content to sport a permanently cunning smirk. His hair was slicked back and Harry couldn't help but to appreciate the confident way the reflected teen held himself. The Slytherin.

The next reminded Harry more of a pureblood than himself. He stood tall and proud, his normally untamable hair long and silky, pulled back into a loose ponytail. Lordship rings appeared on his fingers, making a firm and vocal statement about the purity of his heritage and the sway he held over the Wizarding world. Harry guessed that this was a more politically centered version of himself. The Aristocrat.

Harry was immediately caught by surprise as he looked to the next variation down the line. This version of himself was easily the most enjoyable so far. A warm smile stretched his reflections lips and without knowing exactly how, Harry was certain that this version of himself hadn't participated in the war. The Civilian.

The fourth was without a robe, choosing instead to appear in jeans and a T-shirt. His hands were calloused with wear, and as Harry really took the time to look at him, he noticed that the teen in the reflection didn't have a wand. If he had to guess, he would've assumed that this variation of himself had chosen to live away from the world of magic. The Muggle.

However, it was the final version of himself that stumped the teen. They appeared almost identical. His hair was still wild and unruly, his smile a bit on the mischievous side but still sporting a familiar grin. His eyes were lit with a happiness that Harry could never remember having, but as he looked closer, more details began to emerge. Fading lovebites marked his throat, his lips the faintest bit kiss swollen and he wore a ring on his left hand. The Bonded One.

Harry assumed that this is what he would've looked like had he chosen to marry Ginny, but before he could process that information, the bonded version of himself made a face, "Don't be daft, as if I'd marry the female Weasley. Ghastly."

Harry gaped at the mirror in alarm as all five of his reflections grinned, amused with his reaction to The Bonded One.

"You're all me."

Three of the five snickered at the obviousness of his statement but it was the Civilian vision that chose to speak up, "We're the choices you could've made."

Harry looked at each of them, taking in the acceptance of the given answer but found that the connection still hadn't been made, "I don't understand."

The Slytherin sighed in annoyance and looked to the other four with a pained expression, "He shouldn't have argued with the Hat."

Harry glared at his Slytherin counterpart but the other remained unaffected, looking to his reflected companions, apparently deciding that he wouldn't be the one to explain.

Judging eyes sized him up as the piercing gaze of the Aristocrat roamed his figure, a frown of displeasure maring his lips, "Good Lord, this boy knows nothing. Look at that slouch, and those clothes. Inconceivable."

Harry sighed in resignation and looked to his Muggle self, waiting for the reflection to voice his opinion. Cotton clad shoulders rose in a shrug but the being said nothing.

"I still don't understand."

The Slytherin looked as though he was physically pained, but the Bonded One silenced his incoming rant with a look, "We are what could have been had you been able to make choices for yourself."

Disbelief, and a faint flush of offense, flooded the wizard, "What do you mean? I can make my own choices!"

The Bonded One opened his mouth to speak, but the Civilian beat him to it, "Can you?"

Harry parted his lips to respond before being drowned out by the Slytherin, "Please, you've never made a single choice for yourself! You've always done what others expected of you."

The previously silent Muggle quickly voiced his own opinion, "The first time it happened, you were to small and helpless to do anything about it. You were left with the muggles, due to be raised as though you didn't have magical blood flowing through your veins."

The Aristocrat sneered at his Muggle counterpart but didn't deny the spoken statement before throwing in his two cents, "Upon entering our world, you were expected to be as ordinary as possible, never to hear of your heritage or the rights you possessed."

All five heads nodded, and the Slytherin smoothly continued, "You asked the Sorting Hat to put you in Gryffindor even though Slytherin was its first choice, not because you felt like you didn't belong in the House of Serpents, but because you were told that it was a house of evil, and that Gryffindor was the way to go."

For the first time since their meeting, the smile fell from the Civilian's face, "And do not even get us started on Dumbledore."

Two of the five hissed at the mention of the late Headmaster, nodding in angered agreement.

"You were only eleven and you let him make the most devastating decision of your life: your role in the war and what you stood for. As things escalated, you were never once given the option to remain neutral! It was always impressed upon you that Harry Potter would fight for the light!"

The other four nodded in silent agreement before the soft, hesitant voice of the Bonded One spoke up, "The notion that you could've possibly joined the Dark Side was utterly forbidden, never to be entertained."

Soft murmurs of agreement passed between the five of them before Harry's brows scrunched in confused realization, "Hang on. If you're not the version of me that married Ginny, who did you bond with?"

The teen on the far left smiled coyly, glancing down, turning his bonding ring affectionately, "I'm Harry Riddle."

Harry somehow managed to choke on nothing as those words were uttered, the very height of shock and confusion settling upon his features as he stared down his married alter ego, "How?!"

The Bonded One smirked in amusement, "There are two ways that I would've come to be: Either you surrendered in the Graveyard during our fourth year at Hogwarts, or, if you would've successfully cast the Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix LeStrange in the Ministry of Magic."

Harry turned to the first of the five, the Slytherin, "And you?"

"If you would've chosen to suppress other people's judgements and let the Hat place you where it wanted." The silent duh hung heavily at the end of his statement but neither chose to acknowledge it.

Harry looked to his Muggle self and he spoke without prompt, "If you would've refused your letter to Hogwarts." He frowned, "Or more likely, if you'd chosen not to return after the Battle of Hogwarts."

The Civilian met his eyes as Harry looked to the fourth in the row, "If you'd rejected The Order of the Pheonix and chosen not to go to the Department of Mysteries."

A dull throb of pain echoed within the teen's heart as he thought about that night, his lips parting shakily, "Where you come from, is Sirius still alive?"

The apperation frowned, the look being one less about disapproval and more pitying than anything, "Yes. You lived together at Grimmauld Place with him and Remus after the war. They both survived the Battle and agreed to seven years of surveillance in exchange for their lives when the Dark Lord won. They were married in the Spring of '99."

A choked sob caught in the teen's throat but he refused to let it free, settling instead for turning to the one he'd skipped, "What about you?"

The Aristocrat politely ignored the crack in his voice, "If you would've stood against Fudge and his policies by taking a hold of your heritage and all the sway that gives you. There were many opportunities for you to choose my path."

Harry hesitated before looking again to his Bonded self, "What's it like being married to Voldemort?"

His Bonded apperation blushed softly and smiled, "Like you couldn't imagine. Don't tell him I told you, but Marvolo is quite cuddly."

"The Dark Lord likes to cuddle?!"

All five reflections laughed at the shock of the spoken statement before getting serious. The Slytherin stepped forward, putting Harry under his intense scrutiny, "You've never made a single choice for yourself, Harry. You let Dumbledore, the Weasleys and the preconceived notion of your parent's ghosts make all of your choices for you."

The Civilian nodded, "You've always been afraid of making choices that those around you would deem unwise."

The Bonded One nodded sympathetically, "Your parents are dead Harry. We'll never know what they would've wanted or how they would've reacted to your choices."

"And Dumbledore had no right to try and push you towards any decision!" Harry looked to The Aristocrat, noting the slightest upward turn of his nose and the heat of his voice, "That old coot made Merlin knows how many mistakes and he had no right to tell you what's right for your life."

Murmurs of agreement sounded between the group before the soft spoken tone of his Muggle self made an appearance, "Listen Harry, if you always make choices based on other people and what they think, you will remain a shadow."

The Civilian nodded sympathetically, "What's right for others may not always be right for you."

Understanding flowed heavily within the awoken parts of his conscious, small flickering points of recognition lighting as he made the connections within his own thoughts.

They were right, of course they were.

He'd never thought there was ever any choice. Not really. From the moment Harry was sorted into Gryffindor, he'd been announced to the world as a savior, a player of the light. The endless frustrations, problems that no child should feel the need to meddle in rested upon his shoulders year after year, but the truth was, that Harry never really wanted to do those things to begin with.

He'd never wanted the fame or the attention, and it hadn't helped that he was famous for something he couldn't remember doing. Within his own mind, there was nothing to be famous for, he was a baby, a mere infant that hadn't raised a hand to the Dark Lord. His defeat was mere accident, a freak coincidence that set the balls rolling for the biggest twist of all.

But Harry hadn't done anything to stop it, even after he learned the truth.

After his fifth year, after finally learning the truth in the face of loss, Harry still let fate dictate his path, allowed Dumbledore to guide him where he may. He could've stood back, refused to fight. He could've offered a truce, neutrality in the war between the Light and the Dark. There was always the chance that Voldemort would've killed him, but that was always a risk when it came to dealing with a Dark Lord.

But instead, he'd trusted a manipulative old man. He trusted that Dumbledore had a plan and that the older wizard would solve it. Harry obayed without question, accepting the lessons on Voldemort, dropping everything to hunt Horcruxes on the word of a man who had never felt the need to be wholly and truly honest with him.

All five reflections regarded the teen with silence, watching as inner turmoil bubbled just below the surface, as recognition took hold. There was hurt there, a sense of betrayal that sat heavily on his features, but below the negativity laid an air of acceptance.

The Slytherin regarded him with a curious tone, "You're not angry."

Harry looked up, startled from his internal conflict, "What? No, of course not. Why would I be?"

Each apperation looked to the other, a silent conversation flowing between them, questions asked and answered without a sound before The Bonded One met his gaze, "Why?"

Harry's brows drew together in confusion before an easy going smile lit his features, "Because, my choices have led me here."

The remarkably simple answer felt entirely obvious but as he caught sight of five bewildered looks, he realized that they truly didn't understand.

"If I hadn't made the choices that I made, influenced or not, I wouldn't have ever found this place. I can't change the past, but I can always use what I've learned here to change the future."

The Aristocrat nodded in approval, "Very good, Harry."

The teen in question looked over his shoulder at Death and wondered for the first time if the Elder could see and hear everything that was happening. His stance was calm, watching Harry quietly from his place three steps down, his gaze open and patient.

"Harry."

Green eyes once again returned to the glass and he met the eyes of his Civilian self, "You have been granted a wonderful gift."

The Muggle nodded, "Not many people are able to see their flaws and accept them so as not to be controlled by them."

Harry considered their words with rapt attention, "I guess it doesn't hurt that I have Death to help me out."

Five pairs of eyes looked over the teen's shoulder, taking in the immortal with an ounce of amusement, "Oh yes, that one."

Harry quickly identified the Slytherin as the speaker before the other male continued, "An opportunity if there ever was one."

"Huh?"

The Bonded One smirked, casting a coy look towards the ancient being, "Things are not always as they first appear, Harry, especially where Ancient magic is concerned."

Harry snorted in amusement at the accuracy of his counterpart's statement, thinking momentarily that a truer statement had never been spoken.

He felt content with what he learned, and Harry knew that he was ready to leave but before he could say goodbye, his eyes strayed to the apperation on the far right, his Bonded alter ego. He couldn't shake the idea of being married to the Dark Lord, especially not in the way his reflection described.

"What's it really like, being married to the Dark Lord?"

His alter ego's face softened and Harry was surprised to see the utter look of adoration that settled over his features, "It's the most incredible thing, Harry. He's so incredibly brilliant, and Merlin, so intense."

The other variation of himself bit his lower lip and a soft blush dusted his cheeks, "I've never felt more treasured. Don't get me wrong, he's still a proud, arrogant and sometimes rather frightening man. He's frustrating and sometimes a little mean, but he's the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Harry frowned, "What about the Wizarding World?"

The Bonded One's face morphed into one of confusion before recognition graced his features, "Oh! Right." He cleared his throat and sported a smug look, "As you know, a Horcrux resided within your scar. The close proximity of the two, and the mental link between us helped to return parts of his sanity that he lost. Marvolo still struggles with some things but we work on it."

"He eventually alters his appearance and becomes the Minister of Magic. Magical Britain is one of the most magically balanced nation in the world right now, second only to France."

"Wow," Harry breathed.

His reflected self nodded, "It's a good life."

Harry regarded each of them with a smile, taking in the differences between them, the state of their hair and the expressions on their faces. They were all him, the things that could've been and he was exceedingly grateful for their help.

"I really don't know how to thank you, guys."

The Slytherin smirked, "Just don't forget what we told you. I know it'll be quite difficult with that forgetful Gryffindor mind of yours, but do try."

Amusement danced within the teen's eyes as he looked to his reflection. The Slytherin's response could've come directly from the mouth of one Draco Malfoy, and Harry couldn't resist, "Were you and Malfoy friends?"

His serpent counterpart smiled mischievously, "Absolutely."

He'd always wondered what would've happened if he'd taken Malfoy's hand that first day, and Harry wasn't disappointed.

He waved goodbye before turning away from them, the break in their connection washing over him like a cool breeze on a warm day, waves of calm pouring over his core as the teen made his way down the steps and towards the exit.

Even then, Harry made no move to question if Death would follow, something told the teen that he always would.

* * *

**April 25th, 2009**

After the incident of Death's temporary identity, Harry didn't speak to the Ancient being for close to five days. No matter how many times the white haired male tried to engage in conversation, Harry regarded him with a dole look of bored irritation and returned to whatever he'd been doing. The teen had even gone as far as to snap the Elder Wand, again, despite knowing that it would reappear whole and undamaged some odd hours later.

The silence finally broke when Harry found his path roadblocked by another question that only Death would know the answer to. There was no way around talking to the man, and Harry knew it wasn't in his nature to cast away the pursuit of knowledge in favor of spite.

Harry wandered the house, poking his head into the library and the sitting room first only to be met with empty space. A quick search of all the other rooms yielded the same result and Harry had to accept, with a sigh, that the immortal was elsewhere.

"Am I no longer worthy of the cold shoulder?"

Harry jumped in surprise, spinning around to meet the white haired male's amused look. The words were said in a light tone and though Harry was sure his companion was joking, a brief flash of guilt made him frown.

The immortal offered him a smirk and lead the way towards the kitchens, "So, what can I help you with, Little Master?"

Harry ignored the question in favor of looking for Blip. The friendly elf appeared before him with a small bow, "What can I's be doing for Master Harry?"

The teen smiled as he took his seat at one of the barstools beside Death, "Can I have something sweet?"

Blip bowed once again, "Of course, Blip will be getting Master his treat right away, Sir."

The small being snapped his fingers, a bowl of strawberry ice cream appearing in a bowl before the green eyed wizard. Harry picked up the spoon, savoring the first bite with a happy grin, "I love magic."

The two sat in comfortable silence as Harry enjoyed the first couple bites of his ice cream before the teen looked to his companion, "Does the Resurrection Stone only work for people that you love?"

Death looked down at his ward, a fond warmth surrounding his person as he took in pink ice cream at the corner of Harry's mouth, and the serious look on his face. It was odd to think that despite his hardships and the sights he'd seen, the boy was still quite innocent.

"It works best with the ones you love, but only because of the emotional connection you have to them."

Harry considered the other man's words, taking another bite of his ice cream, "What about an enemy?"

The immortal hummed thoughtfully, "Hatred is fairly equivalent to love in terms of emotional power, so yes."

Open flickers of thought echoed across the younger man's face, and the immortal watched with interest as the information was processed and stored away before Harry turned his face up to his companion, Avada Kadavra green meeting the array of colors, "Does it really bring back the ones we love? Or do we just see what we want to see?"

An approving smirk graced the elder's lips, "Very insightful, Harry."

Death wandlessly summoned the rock in question, staring down at the marble like substance, taking in the faint cracks along the surface, as well as the symbol of the Hallows, "It offers a brief window between the two planes, between this world and the place where souls reside after death. The Resurrection Stone allows the selected soul to be called from the Afterlife by the emotional tether, which is ironically why it would be exceedingly difficult to call somebody from the grave that you've never met."

He offered the small rock to Harry, watching closely as green eyed wizard took it between two fingers, studying it closely, "So the soul really is momentarily trapped in the realm of the living?"

Death's smile fell, forming a slight frown but be nodded in agreement.

"Hmm."

Harry jumped down from his seat, dropping the sticky spoon back into the bowl before making his way from the kitchen, his eyes never once leaving the surface of the middle hallow.

* * *

**October 2005**

Harry found that, after leaving Albania, following Voldemort's footsteps was a much easier task with Death at his side. He no longer had to spend days at a time trying to find the faint magical signature of a being that'd been there decades before.

They went from place to place without incident, taking in the various cultures of different magical communities, studying the ancient lore behind each village. It was insightful, a rare look into the lives of others with the added bonus of having somebody there to help him understand it all.

As time went on, Harry found that he enjoyed Death's company more than he thought possible. The man was unbelievably brilliant and had an answer for almost everything. The white haired immortal never belittled him for not knowing something, and always encouraged him to speak up, to ask questions when they crossed his mind.

They visited countless temples, sites of utter ruin and places where magic flowed thick and heavy through the air, but Harry never quite managed to forget his experience in the Albanian forest. Nothing was ever quite as spectacular as that day, and as time continued to pass, Harry couldn't help but to accept the things he began to notice.

The first being that other magical nations took the Statute of Secrecy a lot more serious than Great Britian.

Within the smaller magical communities, muggleborns were moved from their muggle families and the parents were Obliviated with nobody the wiser. This task usually fell to the Elders of the village who had an easier time spotting magical potential in babies. When the time came, new wizards were eventually selected to take up the spot of a dying elder and we're taught the ways, sworn in to secrecy, and life went on.

In larger communities, it was not exactly uncommon for wizards to occasionally marry muggles, but each one was spelled against speaking of such things with other people under the knowledge that if they managed to find a way around it, they would be Obliviated. Though Muggleborns were not taken from their parents as infants, they were made to choose between their magic and the muggle world upon their seventeenth birthday.

There were small changes, minute differences between cultures, but as a whole, they did not interact with muggles and Muggle culture the way that those in Magical Britain did. They referred to Yule rather than Christmas, Samhain instead of Halloween. It was vastly interesting and upon realizing That Harry knew none of this, Death made it his personal mission to teach the green eyed wizard all about Wizarding tradition and the rich culture that he'd been denied.

Harry slowly began to realize why the purebloods hated muggleborns as they did. Their cultures, the ways of their people were gradually being shoved aside in favor of Muggle traditions that meant nothing to them. The practice of rituals on Summer and Winter Solstice was practically unheard of outside pureblood households and as Harry began to understand, he grew sad.

He came from a family of muggles, so upon entering Hogwarts he hadn't thought much of it when the holidays he was used to followed him, but they were not muggles. They were wizards. They were beings that'd walked silently alongside muggles for millennia, celebrating their own traditions, their own rituals, only to be shoved aside in favor of Muggle practices on the word of a man who had once been in favor of enslaving muggles right alongside Gellert Grindlewald.

The other thing Harry discovered upon his journey was that Magical Britain was the only wizarding community that housed prisoners in Azkaban.

While the Unforgivables remained unforgivable within each nation he visited, the use of dark magic was much more lax. The darker branches were still frowned upon and, mostly, avoided, but nobody batted an eye at the use of blood magic, or the long range of spells that most of magical Europe considered illegal.

Variations of balance existed within the world and it was beautiful. The freedom of magic was intoxicating and Harry found himself confiding in Death more than once that he wished Magical Britian would follow suit.

* * *

**April 29th, 2009**

Harry sat alone among seemingly endless shelves, each housing the ancient texts collected and treasured by the Black family, his fingers still toying thoughtfully with the Resurrection Stone. There were still questions that needed answers, bits of information that could only be acquired from the source, but as Harry gazed into the smooth surface of the dark little rock, he began to feel the slow and steady grips of doubt.

It was only a matter of time before Death figured out what he was really up to, the reasoning behind the sudden and fleeting game of questions, and Harry wasn't sure how the man would react. Depite their time together, the immortal was still a complex being and Harry often times had trouble gauging his reactions, or predicting how the man would react to certain events.

There were always certain tells that Death later denied, but most often, they occurred after the act. Harry always knew to stay clear when he found the white haired immortal pacing. Death didn't enjoy repetition, regardless of how many times he'd commented on the interesting way history always managed to loop, and to see him willingly stoop to a repetitious act almost always meant trouble.

However, such knowledge was of little help to the teen.

He'd obviously been surprised when Harry brought up the Hallows the first time. Though the green eyed wizard had received an answer, he still wasn't sure if the objects were open territory. They'd spent a lot of time avoiding the topic all together, and Harry wasn't positive if that unspoken rule was now void or not.

"Something troubles you, young one?"

Attention snapped into focus, the bright eyed wizard immediately abandoning his thoughts to snap his gaze up to the questioning eyes of his would-be mentor.

"Death! Hello, I - what?"

Death chuckled with amusement, "You appeared quite lost in thought. I merely wondered if something was troubling you."

Harry looked up to the white haired male, hesitant to speak. Despite the open and often playful nature of their relationship, Harry knew that Death took his job quite seriously. In all their time together, he had never once slipped about what was on the other side, and he always made a point to slip out at least once a day to tend to his duty. There was no guarantee that the Immortal wouldn't be angered by his question, or even worse, offended.

But at the same time, Harry found himself unable to continue without the knowledge his mentor held. Any further investigation would be coined useless and a complete waste of time.

Harry looked to the ancient being, and took a deep breath, feeling the startled flutter of his heart as anxiety induced adrenaline coursed through his system, "Would it be possible to bring a person back to life with the Resurrection Stone if you had an available body to house their soul?"

Merciless silence fell between the two companions as Death stared into the boy's eyes, his face completely closed off by a mask of calm indifference.

Of all the things he'd considered to be on Harry's mind, the Immortal had hoped that this wasn't his primary focus. It'd been foolish to think that it could be anything else, especially with his questioning about souls, and the dark Entity didn't have to be omniscient to know who Harry planned to bring back from the dead.

He should have expected it, the elder knew that. The bond between those two wizards ran impossibly deep, bound and twisted as tightly as fate would allow, and the Ancient being should've known that, in at least one universe, death would not be the end for the two of them.

The only question that remained was whether or not he should indulge the boy. There was always a price to be payed, something in exchange for something else. Nothing could be gained without first having offered something in return, that alone was the law that governed his very nature, but what Harry was asking would not be easy by any means. There was plenty of room for failure, for disaster, and there was no guarantee that Tom Riddle would wish to return from the other side.

The teen shifted restlessly in front of him and in that moment, Death realized how nervous the young wizard was. He fidgeted hopelessly, and as the elder took in the set features of his face, he realized the sheer amount of courage that would've been needed to ask such a question.

The immortal's face softened. His brave Gryffindor.

"It's complicated."

Harry frowned at the answer that didn't really answer anything, a look of well veiled disappointment hiding within his features.

Death sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "What you're asking can be done a number of ways, all of which are equally dangerous. There are a lot of variables involved."

Harry's eyebrows pulled together in confusion, "Like what?"

Death sighed in near exasperation, gently gripping the boy's arm and pulling him towards a nearby table before taking a seat across from him.

"The first thing you need to consider is whether or not Lord Voldemort wants to return to the land of the living."

Harry's cheeks flushed bright in embarrassed awe, "How did you - "

Death waved him off before he could finish, "Doesn't matter."

The dark haired wizard pulled the stone from his pocket and looked, once again, to its surface, turning it over in his fingers, "Couldn't we just ask him?"

Dexterous fingers pulled the stone from his grasp as the white haired Ancient shook his head, "The first summoning is always the most powerful. With each time that you call a spirit from the Afterlife, the connection falters. Unbound souls are not meant for this plane, Harry."

Knowledgable green eyes stared at the table's surface thoughtfully, "That makes sense, I guess." Harry drummed his fingertips quietly against the wood, "I think Tom Riddle would want to return."

Momentary silence lingered between them and the green eyed wizard was almost surprised that his companion hadn't questioned the statement. He merely nodded and offered the stone back to the Gryffindor before continuing.

"There are three possibilities. You could simply choose a body and hope that the soul bonds with it. Though the easiest option, it has the highest potential to fail. Bodies that have housed other souls don't usually mesh well with different spirits."

Death brushed something non-existant from his shoulder, lazily directing his focus back to the younger man, "The next option would be a particularly complicated potion that would simply create a body from memory, but as you destroyed a vast majority of items within the Department of Mysteries, I'm not sure where we would find the key ingredients. Not to mention that the given potion is meant for a Horcrux and that you're dreadful at Potions."

Harry scowled but didn't argue the point, "So I'm basically left with one option that probably isn't going to be very pleasant."

Death chuckled, his lips curling in an amused grin as he suppressed the urge to laugh out right, "Very clever, but not far from the truth. The last option is quite easily the hardest. It involves in-depth knowledge of the innermost workings of the human body combined with an extremely dark ritual."

The easy-going smile fell from the teen's lips, "How dark?"

"Very." Death eyed the teen wearily, "You'd need to dabble in Necromancy, and there's no way to successfully complete it without a sacrifice."

The teen's eyes darkened, and the Immortal could instantly see the change in his demeanor, the balance within his mind as the green eyed wizard weighed the pros and cons, the light to the dark. Indecision raged within his ward, clear as day to the Ancient being, but he said nothing, content to wait and watch both sides rise as fall as Harry considered just how far he was willing to go for a man that'd once been his greatest enemy.


	2. Chapter 2

**December 9th, 2009**

Harry was, by no means, stupid. Despite the fact that he was a Gryffindor and the House of Lions wasn't necessarily well known for their intellect, Harry was a bright young wizard, but even Death had to admit that there were times when it was clear why the green eyed boy hadn't been sorted into Ravenclaw.

They'd traveled for just under six years, exploring the abandoned beauties of the world, realms of long forgotten magic, all the while, mercilessly tracking the life of Tom Marvolo Riddle. However, it wasn't until the pair returned to Great Britian that the Boy-Who-Lived began to understand the ramifications of his actions.

During their travels, Harry often forgot about how he appeared to others. His hair grew shaggy and long, shadows of stubble dusting along the length of his jaw. He was unrecognizable, a foreign face even to those that knew him.

The teen never sought out his own reflection, stating that as long as he was clean, it didn't matter what he looked like. What did it matter how long his hair was when they would be braving the unforgiving jungles within the heart of Brazil or the scorching heat deep in the ancient deserts of Egypt?

In the beginning, Death merely assumed that it was because the teen couldn't bare to see what he'd sacrificed along his journey, but as time passed, the elder began to understand that the youth genuinely didn't know the truth.

Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, Vanquisher of Voldemort, Champion of the Light, Master of Death, had yet to figure out that, he too, was now immortal.

Days after their return to Grimmauld Place, Harry finally decided to shave, to cut his hair and take in the sight of his changed self. It was almost exciting, the prospect of once again seeing his face after all that'd passed. He could imagine the faint lines of wear, the air of age after six years traveling the world but to his horror and utter surprise, he remained the same.

Death had stood silently by his side, gauging his reaction, taking in the crumpled expression and the weary look of disbelief that claimed the teen's features as his eyes frantically searched his face. The white haired immortal could see the pain of that knowledge, the understanding that settled heavily within the green eyed wizard, and for the first time in many years, Death felt the shame of guilt.

He should've warned him, should've given the boy time to prepare, but he hadn't. His initial thought was that the discovery would be rather funny but as he took in Harry's look of anguish, the Ancient being began to realize the true depth of what immortality would mean to the wizard in front of him.

He would never be joined with his parents in the afterlife, nor the people that'd been taken from him along his journey to bring down the Dark Lord. His friends and loved ones would age and, eventually, die, leaving Harry to an ever changing world that he could not escape.

It was in that moment of true realization that Death vowed to always stand beside his Master, and to do anything in his power to help the wizard regain at least some of what was now lost to him, no matter what it took.

* * *

**May 2nd, 2009**

During his travels, Harry had learned his fair share of Dark magic. He'd dabbled in things that he shouldn't, tested the bounds of his moral compass, but he'd never taken the life of another. For all that he'd learned, all that he'd experimented with, Harry was still light at heart and he'd never dared to cross that final barrier.

Until now.

He was so unbelievably close to the end. It'd been surprising that Death offered the answers he sought so freely, especially considering what they entailed, but this was somewhat beyond the green eyed male.

For as much as Harry wanted to bring back Lord Voldemort, he didn't know if he could kill another person to do so.

Indecision flowed heavily through the wizard's mind, clouding his heart with an endless cycle of questions without answers.

The light had long overshadowed the darkness and that didn't change with the death of Voldemort. Quite the opposite. Regulations on Dark magic were more restricting than ever, to the point where the thought of another Dark Lord rising to power was utterly unthinkable.

With the fall of darkness, those who fought for Creature Rights had become the laughing stock of Wizarding Britain. Witches and wizards born with a natural affinity for dark magic were generally distrusted and put under endless forms of scrutiny before eventually being jailed on charges that bordered flimsy at best.

Muggleborns had, of course, been welcomed into Wizarding culture, along with their Muggle holidays, and the age of magical tradition was quickly coming to an end.

Wizarding Britian needed guidance, and though he would've rejected such a thing in his youth, Harry now accepted that darkness had a place among their world, and it was time for the Dark to regain what was lost. They needed a leader, somebody unafraid, unwilling to back down regardless of what was said or threatened. Somebody who would fight for the rights to use all forms of magic, who would balance the scales of their world and right the wrongs that'd been carved in the face of the Light's victory.

They needed Lord Voldemort.

Though he'd lost his way, swallowed by the grips of insanity and denial, Tom Riddle had once been a strong and ruthless leader. Even with Harry's limited understanding of politics and the missing pieces of Voldemort's history, he knew without a doubt that one did not gather the allegiance of all Pureblood families and Dark supporters merely by promising blood. Tom Riddle was charming, a true Slytherin if there ever was one, and the dark haired wizard had no problem imagining him before his followers, speaking boldly of his objectives, demanding respect with his power and his ideals.

There were certain risks involved, but what it came down to was whether or not Harry trusted his gut instincts. Either he could believe that the ends would justify the means, or he couldn't.

* * *

**May 4th, 2009**

"Tell me about the ritual."

Unfathomable eyes blazed with surprise as Death took in the sight of his Master, staring at the absolute resolve in his stance, the strong unflinching nature of his decision to at least hear what the immortal had to say.

The white haired male sat forward, propping an elbow up on the table as he considered his companion, "What do you know about the laws of give and take, Harry."

Thoughtful consideration flickered across the dark haired male's face as he pondered Death's question, "I've never really thought about it, but I would assume that nothing can be taken without giving something of equal value."

Death nodded, "It isn't exactly that simple. Equal doesn't always play a part in it, but the concept is pretty much the same."

"As you know, the Fundamental Laws of Transfiguration say that you can't configure food out of nothing. However, if you have, say, the ingredients to make bread, you can reshape the flour, yeast and water to make bread. All you have to do is know how much is needed, and the exact processes needed to make it without magic. It's all about intent. What does your magic intend to do with the provided materials."

The elder paused, considering his next words, "That's basically what you'd be doing to create a body to house the soul. Human beings, though complicated are mostly made up of six elements: Carbon, Oxygen, Hydrogen, Nitrogen, Calcium, and Phosphorus. There's a couple others but they aren't incredibly important because we're working with magic."

Harry's brows pulled together in confusion, "But I thought you had to have all the ingredients involved."

Death nodded in agreement, "You do. However, magic allows for some compensation. Because the other elements involved don't measure up to a single percentile on the scale, magic will provide them for us."

The elder waved it off before continuing, "You'll basically be creating a human body the way you'd create bread. You use magic to weave the variables together by understanding how they work and allowing your magic to sense your intent."

It sounded simple enough, but the more Harry thought about the complexities of the human body, the more he began to think that the spellwork wouldn't be as easy as he'd first imagined, "How in-depth do I need to go conceptually?"

Death frowned, "You could cut corners but if you do that, you'll run the risk of the body failing later. If you want good work, you have to put in the time and effort."

Harry sat back in his seat, crossing his arms as he pondered newly discovered information before turning his attention back to his immortal companion, "You still haven't told me much about the ritual itself."

Magic crackled in the air as the white haired Ancient slowly leaned forward and drew a glittering circle on the table's surface.

Harry always found it slightly awe-inspiring when Death used magic. He didn't have a wand and only ever said incantations out loud for the teen's benefit. Complicated spellwork was no more challenge than breathing and rather than using a quill and parchment like most people, the elder would simply use his magic to draw whatever he wished to share on whatever surface was available.

"Unfortunately, the preparation itself will be slightly messy. You'll need unicorn blood, the blood of your sacrifice and some of your own. You'll also need as many memory strands involving Tom Riddle as you can find."

Death continued to draw on the wood surface until he revealed something that reminded Harry vaguely of a bulls-eye. There was the largest ring, followed closely by another smaller circle, a large gap and then a final small circle in the middle.

Colorless fingers pointed to the outermost ring, "This one will be drawn with the unicorn's blood. The smaller one," He pointed to the second biggest ring, "Will need to be made from the blood of your sacrifice.

Dexterous fingers glided between the two outer rings, "You'll need to brush up on your rune work. The markings needed are complicated, and you'll need them here," He paused and then pointed to the innermost circle, "And here."

Harry frowned, "That doesn't seem so hard."

The immortal appeared almost uncomfortable before sighing, "There's more to these runes than just drawing them, Harry."

"What do you mean?"

Death frowned, "The markings on the inner circle have to be carved in flesh."

The slightest flicker of disgust crossed the boy's features before small brushes of confusion settled within his gaze, "Voldemort's flesh?"

"And yours."

Shock became evident as the immortal wizard vocalized his surprise, "Why do I need to do it?!"

Amusement crossed Death's mind, making his lips twitch in an almost smirk, "Harry, you're going against the laws of nature to bring back something from the other side. You have to bind it to the Mortal plane, and the easiest way to do that is by tethering it to somebody that's already supposed to be here."

Harry groaned in frustration, "How many runes, and where?"

"Thirty-three. One for each vertebrate."

Twin brows rose in astonishment, "I'll have to carve runes into my spine?" Harry frowned, clearly not liking the idea but not making a move to vocally share his displeasure, "What about Riddle?"

The white haired male drummed his fingers thoughtfully against the table's surface, "He'll have them too. Only in the opposite order."

Death looked across the table at his ward, "It's very important that when you draw the runes for the inner circle, you use specific blood."

"How specific?"

"It's about correspondence, Harry. The first rune takes the shape of a half lined crescent. When you carve it into your skin, you'll have to use the blood from it to draw it on the floor. The same goes for all the runes."

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, pushing away the faint phantom pains as he considered the action, "That doesn't seem horribly complicated."

"It's not." Death sighed, "You'll need to let the runes dry and then redraw them exact opposite way for Tom Riddle. Use the blood spilt from the first rune to trace over the last sigal in the circle. It seems complex but I'll be there to aid you."

Harry paused for a moment, worrying his bottom lip with blunt human teeth before taking a deep breath, "And what about the sacrifice."

Death appeared thoughtful, lacing his fingers together as he leaned back in his chair, "It goes along with the idea of equivalent exchange. You can't take a soul from the Afterlife with the intent to keep it in the mortal world without giving one back."

"The inner circle will serve as a way to trap the soul you're summoning and shield it." The Ancient picked up the Resurrection Stone, "When you summon a soul, the link between the two realms remains open until the soul returns. But it doesn't have to be the same soul that exited. You trap Voldemort's soul in the rune circle, and then drop the stone as you release the spirit of your sacrifice."

Displeasure crossed the teens features, "And by release you mean kill."

The elder being had the intense urge to roll his eyes but he refrained by sheer will alone, "Call it what you may, the end result is the same."

Silence enveloped them for a brief moment before Harry recaptured the smooth black stone, "Does it matter who the sacrifice is?"

Death shook his head, "No. The only limitation is that the person has to be magical. It won't work to bring a magical soul back from the Afterlife and to replace it with a non-magical one. But that's it. Gender, age, and blood purity are all optional."

"Be aware though that Voldemort has a large magical core and you aren't going to want to use a weak wizard. Lady magic will compensate for some loss, but not if you choose an exceptionally weak core."

Harry held up his palm, "Hang on, we'll be draining their core, so shouldn't that make their soul appear to be non-magical?"

For the first time since they'd begun Death offered the teen a genuine smile for his well placed question, "Very good, Harry. No, we'll be leaving a small portion of his core intact and you'll donate the rest of what's needed. Nothing you can't replenish over the course of two or three days."

Harry hummed as he tried to visualize the steps needed, "Where do the memories come in?"

Death pointed his finger against the small gap between the two bigger rings, "That's what you'll draw these runes with, memories mixed with phoenix tears."

The Immortal tapped his fingertips against the surface of the table, "After Voldemort's soul is trapped in the rune circle, I'll direct it into his body and seal it within with a drop of my own blood and there you'll have it."

Death sighed in poorly veiled annoyance, "The hardest part will be the wand."

"The wand?"

He dipped his head in confirmation, "The wand chooses the wizard, Harry. Even if Voldemort's wand hadn't been snapped and mounted on a plaque it still wouldn't work for him." The ancient being considered the teen across from him, "Tom Riddle has experienced what it means to die, Harry. He won't be the same. He'll need a new wand."

Harry shrugged, "Well, we can figure that out later."

His companion shook his head in denial, "It doesn't work that way. All the incantations for this ritual will have to be done with the wand you create for him. Including the Transfiguration of the body."

Harry gave an exasperated sigh, "You could've mentioned that first."

The elder didn't comment but Harry hadn't really expected him to. Focus wavered as the green eyed wizard thought about what kind of wand the Dark Lord would require.

He'd learned a fair amount about wandlore and the craft involved with it during their travels, but Harry didn't hesitate to admit that it wasn't his most well versed subject. There was room for a lot of error, and once a wand was created, it couldn't be undone.

The entire process was rather tricky, "I'm assuming that it won't be as easy as pairing the wood with a traditional core?"

"Obviously."

An irritated remark danced heavily on the tip of the Gryffindor's tongue but he kept his cheek quiet, choosing instead to roll his eyes, "Any advise?"

Death smirked, amusement stamped across his features, "Now, now, Harry. I can't possibly give you all the answers. No, I think you'll have to figure this out on your own."

Harry clenched his jaw but didn't argue.

The deafening silence broke as the white haired immortal pushed his chair back, standing from his position across from Harry, "Think on it and tell me what you find. We'll go from there. However, I would advise using unicorn blood in some way. Any connection between the wand and the ritual will help immensely, but it isn't required."

"Just food for thought."

The teen only nodded, quickly submerging himself in thought as the elder disappeared within the darkness, leaving Harry to work on yet another puzzle.

* * *

**May 10th, 2009**

Various pieces of parchment littered the space around where Harry was seated. Since his enlightening conversation with Death, the green eyed wizard had dove mercilessly into his work, scribbling down various types of wood, their corresponding lengths and possible cores.

Though a complex craft, wands themselves were not often complicated. There were, of course, many different types of wood that could be used, but cores didn't often vary from the norm. Phoenix feather, unicorn hair, and dragon heartstrings, however, Harry had a feeling that none of those would do.

During their adventures and his brief encounters with wandlore and the incredible witches and wizards who'd managed to master the profession, the green eyed wizard learned that primary cores were by no means the only options. Ordinary and extraordinary beings alike had found it easier to bond with the three main core types, but it was altogether possible to introduce different ones provided by more obscure magical creatures. The only issue was that such wands often had trouble finding a suitable owner and usually lingered on the shelf far longer than they ought to have.

During these lessons, it'd been impressed upon Harry early on that, though the wand chooses the wizard, often times magicals sought out replacement wands. The first kinship between wizard and wand was almost always the strongest, and most people found no reason to change wands. However, times could change, as could people.

The initial bond was due to a feeling of connection, the desire to learn and grow from both sides and though wand makers had yet to figure out how such a thing could exist, it still happened. But, if significant change took place, sometimes the wand no longer fit the wizard, and the bond was deminished.

It was these thoughts and recollections that drew Harry to the conclusion that Phoenix feather would no longer be a suitable core for Voldemort's wand in any form. From the moment that death claimed the Dark Lord for his own, that option had been lost.

Phoenixes knew what it meant to die, but they didn't know the darkness of lingering in the afterlife. They were accustomed to immediate rebirth.

It was Harry's thought that during his life, the connection between Voldemort and his wand had been strengthened by his various forms of rebirth, adding to his power, but that was no longer the case. His original wand wouldn't work, and even if it did, the thin pale stick of yew was broken in half, mounted proudly on a plaque within the Ministry of Magic.

However, the past was part of Tom Riddle, as it was for all beings. The events that've already come to pass create us, shaping and moulding those that they encounter through experience and hardship.

For this reason, Harry chose to stick with yew as the wood casing. Initially, he'd thought to change the length, but then he'd decided against it. Anything over twelve inches was considered bad luck, but something about the lengthy strip of wood convinced the wizard to stick with the original thirteen and a half inches.

They would be Voldemort's connection to the past, the physical reminder of his life, what he'd done, what he'd suffered, victory and defeat alike. More than that though, yew was a near perfect match to Voldemort as a person.

Aside from the berries, all parts of the yew tree were poisonous and it was known as a species of immortality due to its incredibly lengthy lifetime. Much of the yew's symbolism was concerned with transcendence, the transformation that arises from death. That wasn't always inclusive of physical death, but Harry felt that it matched the Dark Lord.

He'd died and been reborn before Harry was ever born.

Tom Riddle died at the hands of those that thought themselves above him and had been reborn as Lord Voldemort; merciless and unyielding in the face of all things.

However, the truth of the matter was that Voldemort HAD died. He'd experienced physical death, lingering between worlds only to be swept off to the other side in the end and that was were Harry found himself trapped and struggling.

There were hundreds of combinations that he could try. It was less intimidating now that the wizard didn't have to worry about length and wood type but that still left the daunting challenge of the core. It was arguably the single most important piece of the wand, and there were seemingly endless possibilities. He only had one shot. It would not due to needlessly create a bunch of unlucky obscure wand types made of a rarely chosen wood.

As wands could not be unmade, he'd have to try and sell them to a Wandmaker as an uncertified craftsman or run the risk of leaving them all somewhere to be found. Neither option seemed entirely pleasing, and thus Harry remained trapped in a cycle of possibilities.

"How's it coming?"

Harry looked hopelessly to his mentor, his neck protesting painfully at the sudden change in position, "Slowly."

"You're stuck on the core."

It hung in the air more as a statement than a question, but the dark haired Gryffindor nodded regardless, sighing in frustration, "There's a lot of things to choose from. The only core I've ruled out altogether is mermaid's hair."

Death nodded thoughtfully as he stepped forward to capture the teen's notes, a low hum building in his throat as he looked over the younger man's progress, "Your wood type is clever, and more than a little meaningful. Good job, Harry."

"Thanks." A tired sigh came from the green eyed wizard before he leaned back in his chair, stretching with a pained groan.

It was clear that the boy was stuck in a rut, the cogs of his mind refusing to turn as he struggled ahead on his project, but the elder couldn't really blame him. When the end was so incredibly near, it became difficult to rest and allow it to remain just an arms length away.

Death smiled fondly at his Master, taking in the subconscious scrunched of brows, the faint wrinkling of the Gryffindor's nose as he continued to ponder various cores. Harry needed a hint.

"Finding a wand for Lord Voldemort with a simple core will be nearly impossible. He's a complex being of layer and definition." The white haired immortal tapped a finger against his lips as he considered his words, "He's also witnessed and experienced death. You'll need a wand core with depth and meaning. Intent and symbolism mean a great deal to magical beings, Harry, and you're not going to find all the elements needed in a single core."

"I think it would be beneficial for you to begin thinking about different methods of combination."

Death laid a hand on the wizards shoulder, meeting his eyes as the teen looked back up to him, "Don't be afraid to get creative, Harry. It isn't widely practiced, but wandcores can be infused with other properties."

Harry frowned in confusion, "I don't understand. How would you do that? Do you just have two different cores wrapped together or something?"

A hearty chuckle pulled from the elder's lips at the teen's words, "No, nothing like that."

"The simplest way is to soak the main core in something else. Phoenix tears, various types of creature blood, venoms. There's many options."

Unadulterated surprise captured the teen by storm, stopping all previous thought process before kicking into hyperdrive. Millions of ideas bombarded the teen's psyche and though he should've felt even more swamped than before, he didn't. He didn't need to find one specific core type out of hundreds to fit all areas of Voldemort's personality. He just needed to find one main one and seal in a few additions to strengthen the bond.

Harry's hand flew over the paper, his self-inking quill barely able to keep up as the boy listened property after property, labeling each one with various points of symbolism and meaning.

Death smiled at his Master before turning, silently slipping away from the dimly it library, allowing the boy space to think.

* * *

**May 10th, 2009**

Some odd hours later, Harry finally found Death sitting in the kitchen talking quietly with Blip.

Harry never managed to quite wrap his head around the fact that the small beings could see him. Often times, Death chose to go unnoticed. Beings of all races passed before his presence, unseeing, going on with their daily lives, never knowing what'd just side-stepped them. There were only a couple of exceptions to that rule: House elves and children.

When discussing the oddity, Harry theorized it was most likely because younger mortals hadn't yet begun to understand the true meaning of death. To them, death wasn't a mere concept, a way to explain the end of life, it was just a word that could have any face of their choosing. Neither had come to an agreement for the reasoning behind it, and in turn, neither being had any knowledge of why house elves could see through his invisibility glamors.

However, Harry didn't argue his gratefullness that they knew the ancient being was there. It would not due for the small beings to think that he spent his days talking to empty air.

"Master Harry, Sir!"

The elf bowed politely and Harry waved him off with a smile. He'd long since given up trying to convince the creature that he didn't have to bow or call Harry master, "Hi Blip, can I get something to eat?"

Dark eyes lit up with joy at the prospect of being helpful, "Of course, Master, of course. What can Blip be makings for you?"

Harry plopped down on the seat beside the white haired immortal, "Whatevers convenient, as long as it's hot."

Blip nodded in understanding before popping away, the other end of the massive kitchen becoming a flurry of magic before a large plate of fish and chips appeared in front of the starving wizard.

Harry pulled a folded piece of parchment from his pocket, slapping it down on the counter in front of his mentor before digging into his food, sighing happily.

Death raised an eyebrow with questioning amusement as he unfolded the paper, scanning it with curious eyes. It was covered in various scratchings, many crossed out in thick ink, others underlined or written with a question mark at the end.

"Some of your final choices, I presume?"

Harry nodded, swallowing his food before responding, "I just wanted to see what you thought."

Death looked back to the well used parchment before him, taking in each idea that'd been deemed considerable, and admitting with a touch of pride that the teen was incredibly clever.

Basilisk venom was, of course, an obvious choice due to Voldemort's bloodline and his ability to speak parseltongue but Harry had gone above and beyond.

"Why Inferi blood?"

Harry rubbed his palms against his thighs, rubbing the grease from his skin, "Well, Inferi are dark creatures, technically brought back from the dead," Harry shrugged, "And I thought it might have the ability to corrupt the purity of a unicorn hair."

Death smiled fondly at the green eyed wizard, "Very good, Harry. Tell me what else you've come up with."

The teen frowned and parted his lips, intending to remind his companion of the list but Death handed the parchment back to him, "I want to hear it in your words."

Full and sated, Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows against the bar, "Well, I considered vampire blood too, since Voldemort is merciless and kinda blood thirsty and I thought that maybe phoenix tears would be a good option too but they're more light oriented creatures and the only symbolism I could think of was that they're powerful like Voldemort."

Harry rubbed the back of his neck before continuing, "Thestrals seemed like a good idea, since you have to accept death to see them, their blood or maybe one of their heirs, but they're pretty gentle and that doesn't really fit Tom Riddle."

He quickly rattled off two or three more ideas before Death stopped him with a hand, "Have you given anymore thought to what you want your main core to be?"

Harry hesitated, "I was thinking that maybe we could use strips of a Dementor's cloak."

Ever-shifting eyes widened in near comical surprise at the wizard's reply. All beings big and small could feel fear, whether it was caused by a predator or something irrational remained irrelevant, but there was nothing on this earth more adept at fear than a dementor. Boggerts of course we're more known for their ability to provoke terror in others, but not the way a dementor could.

Where as a Boggert would be unlikely to chase after a victim, leaving its territory momentarily exposed, a dementor had no such qualms. Often times the victim was so choked with fear that they found themselves unable to access the part of their brain reserved for the "Fight or Flight" instinct. The Patronus Charm, while exceedingly helpful, was not always available. When wrapped tightly in their worst memories, subjected to the terrors of their own mind, victims often times found themselves unable to shape together a memory happy enough for even the smallest assistance.

The reasoning behind his choice wasn't hard to guess. Lord Voldemort was a being built on fear, so much so that the utterance of his very name was practically considered a crime. Even before the fall of his sanity, Voldemort was a man of fear invoked power. Death could remember many times when a soul passed on merely from being in the presence of such a man, and the idea of using strips of a dementor's cloak to bind his magic to the mortal plane was something terrifying indeed.

Death raised his glass, finishing the sweet liquid before standing and gazing toward his ward with a look of both pride and hesitancy, "I hope you know what you're doing, Harry."

The boy snorted in amusement, "Of course I don't, that's why I've got you."

A small smile touched the lips of the white haired immortal as he turned from the wizard, his footsteps slow and measured as he made his leave before he stopped at the threshold, turning back to the reckless Gryffindor, "You're wrong, you know."

Mouth full, Harry had no choice but to merely turn and press his brows together in confused questioning.

Colorless fingers drummed against the woodwork of the door frame, a nostalgic half smile coming to his face, "Don't ever doubt that you know what you're doing, Harry. Even admitting that you're unsure is doing something, making a choice. Even without me, I'm sure you could've pulled it off somehow."

Death left without another word, not bothering to take in the shocked look upon the teens face as he walked away but for Harry, that declaration meant more than he would ever dare to admit.

* * *

**May 11th, 2009**

Darkness shrouded the immortal being as he sat within the still silence of his own company. The boy had long since given up trying to avoid sleep, so here, within the quiet that only true solitude could bring, he thought.

Not for the first time, Death wondered if he was doing right, by both himself and the world around him. The task of ferrying stubborn souls to the other side had long since been entrusted to the white haired wizard, but was this within the realms of what he was entitled to?

Once upon a time, Ignotus Peverell was left to house the unearthly entity known as Death until he found a worthy being to bestow the gift upon. He was to walk the ages of this world, gazing fondly upon humanity until the power of his host destroyed his body from the inside out.

If there was anything the being had learned over the course of his unnervingly long life, it was that nothing was truly immortal. There were those that sought to hide themselves from death, to prologue their time on Earth, but in the end, everything had its time, And he was no different.

Ignotus, too, would eventually die, but not before leaving his mark upon the world. But the enigma he now faced was to what mark would be left behind. In doing this, Magical Britian, and perhaps the world, would be permanently altered, faced with a new direction, but even with all his knowledge the elder couldn't be sure where it would take them.

The immortal had never met another living creature as captivating as Harry Potter. He was, by all means, fairly ordinary. His past of course, painted a wholly different picture of the teen but the truth was that he wasn't anything truly extraordinary. His magic wasn't overwhelming in nature, he wasn't top of his class or the most clever of his peers. Despite being fairly attractive, the dark haired wizard wasn't overly striking in appearance, he didn't stand out among the crowd, but there was something drawing about the boy.

From the moment Harry first encountered the Invisibility Cloak he knew there was something different about him, and yet, something so vaguely familiar. Small and shy, but unbelievably brave, honest at heart with the blood of a Maurarder in his veins. He'd watched the boy grow, watched him slowly give up every thing he had to offer, including his life, for others.

The brilliant flame of his spirit surpassed only by the sheer depth of his heart. Even after everything, Harry was willing to sacrifice everything for what he felt was right. Without having to be told, without expectation, the green eyed wizard stepped forward to see the betterment of their world.

Death watched with rapt attention from the shadows as Harry overcame, besting everything in his path, and against impossible odds, he'd succeeded. Not because Fate said he would, but because he had the strength of will to endure and push forward.

But like all things in this world, change befell him.

Harry became obsessed, captured wholeheartedly by a concept, a question without answer. He'd sought the farthest corners of the world, searching for the fleeting nature of something that'd been lost long ago. For ages, Death watched from a distance, hoping that, eventually, Harry would move past his curiosity, but that had never been within the wizard. He was not one to willingly give up, and as Death thought of their adventures he began to realize that nothing other than this could've brought the boy satisfaction.

But what he was asking, what he planned on doing, was beyond anything Death had ever considered.

This was Voldemort, and if there was ever the tip of a knife to balance the world on, it would've been him. He was, without a doubt, the wildest card in the deck, and the Ancient being didn't hesitate to admit that he didn't know what the man would be capable of if they managed to bring him back from the grave.

Tom Riddle was a powerful man in life, and would become even more so upon his return. One did not skate across both barriers of this world without something to show for it.

Death didn't pretend to understand the true nature of Harry's desire, or from where his faith in the dark wizard came from, but it was there and had been since the day they'd officially met.

The white haired wizard had, of course, been ignorant to that fact at the time, but as he looked back to their meeting and the events that followed, he knew that whatever Harry saw in the Life Mirror changed everything. It set events in motion that could not be anticipated, stopped or ignored.

And now they were here, at the threshold of a monumental decision, but for the first time in his immortal life, Ignotus Peverall wasn't sure whether he was supposed to allow it to happen or prevent the world from falling into utter ruin.

Death sighed and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes to the darkness as he allowed the struggle of conflict to settle within his heart, drawing his mind from the calm certainty found within the past.

* * *

**May 16th, 2009**

After days of grappling with the various ideas for Voldemort's wand, Harry finally settled on something complicated in terms of simplicity. The power behind vague symbolism wasn't lost on the dark haired wizard, the Life Mirror alone had taught the youth such, and despite the fact that he could've made quite a few more reasonable choices, Harry was pleased with his decision.

He'd chosen yew for the wood type, obvious, with a strip of dementor's cloak soaked in basilisk venom.

Like dementors, fear was something that Lord Voldemort would always invoke in others. Whether it was the Muggle children that'd made the mistake of bullying him, the Slytherins that'd sought to do the same at Hogwarts, or the terrified witches and wizards that later flinched at the very mention of his name, Voldemort brought fear to the hearts of all that encountered him. Harry was sound of mind in the theory that such a thing would never change. Even in rebirth, there were bound to be those that had to be told of who he'd been previously, and Harry was more than positive that such introductions would provoke terror.

It only seemed natural for Harry to use basilisk venom in combination with the dementor's cloak. Though a neutral substance, it was often considered dark, meaning that it wouldn't clash terribly with the main core type. He'd tried to incorporate the unicorn's blood just as Death recommended, but the risk that the core would reject the combination sealed his decision.

Snakes held all kinds of meaning for Voldemort. He was a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin, and had been sorted into the house of snakes at the age of eleven. Because of his bloodline, Tom Riddle was a parselmouth, who eventually took a snake for a familiar, living off her venom after his first resurrection. After rising from the cauldron, Voldemort appeared moderately serpentine in both appearance and mannerisms, not to mention the fact that he'd valued his own serpent, Nagini, enough to make her into a Horcrux.

Though most of that was in the past, it wouldn't change. It would be one of the few things that remained even after death and rebirth. Tom Marvolo Riddle was still a Slytherin, in both blood and heart, he was still a parselmouth, and though Harry would endeavor not to give him a serpentine body, the teen didn't doubt that his mannerisms would still hold true.

It was fairly simplistic, altogether slightly vague, but Death said that symbolism and intent meant more than people originally thought. It didn't matter how others would've gone about such a quest, because it all boiled down to Harry's intent, what he found symbolic in terms of Voldemort.

The youth was actually fairly confident with his choices, and he'd expressed as much when he'd spoken to Death about it. In truth, Harry was mildly surprised at the acceptance and subtle pride Death had expressed when the teen announced his final choice.

Since their conversation in the kitchen, the immortal had appeared withdrawn, less forthcoming in his conversations with Harry about both the ritual and other less complicated topics. He appeared thoughtful, perhaps the smallest bit conflicted, but Harry didn't push. He'd hesitantly questioned the elder about it, but the other brushed his concern aside in favor of a smirk and a comment that seemed more deflective than comforting.

Despite having become slightly more aware of the white haired male, Harry sought to allow the man his own thoughts, free from the youth's curiosity. He could never be entirely sure, but the green eyed male found himself under the impression that Death was thankful for the space.

It had to be hard, Harry supposed, being Death and being expected to make all sorts of complex decisions.

The slow drizzle of rain steadily drew the boy-who-lived from his thoughts surrounding the creation of the wand and his companions behavior. Slick cobblestones sat unevenly below his feet as the teen made his way between snug buildings and cramped houses, his movements practically on autopilot as he weaved between people, allowing the history of his presence to guide his feet.

The house Harry found himself in was both dreary and secluded, something the dark haired wizard felt reflected on the man that'd once taken up residence there all those years ago. Not much had changed since his last visit some months ago, or the one before that which ended up being closer to the scale of years rather than months.

Spinners End held a sort of phantom nostalgia for Harry. He'd never set foot here while Severus Snape was still alive, but after the events of the Battle of Hogwarts and what'd been revealed in the late Headmaster's memories, Harry felt almost as if he didn't have a choice. He felt that he owed it to the man who had saved his life and, ultimately, gave him the long awaited answers of how he survived that one fateful Halloween and the struggles he'd been presented.

Even now, after so many years, Harry still wasn't sure how he felt about Snape. The man was a hero, and after the grand reveal of which side he was really on, Harry never failed to say as much and to refer to the dark haired man with the respect he deserved. He'd fooled everyone, including the greatest Dark Lord that their age had ever known. However, that didn't change the fact that Severus Snape had been a bitter, loathsome, evil git when he'd still been alive.

Harry owed him a great deal, and he acknowledged that, but on the other side of that coin, he also acknowledged that the man was a bully, a teacher who purposefully used scathing words to make children cry. He'd been willing to sacrifice Harry and his father in exchange for Lily Potter, and even before that, he'd been a Death Eater, an Inner Circle Death Eater, long before Lily Potter had been killed.

It was something that Harry never quite found himself at peace with, but regardless of his own inner turmoil about the situation, he still gave the man his due.

After the war was over, the people of their world had worshiped him, trying to offer the Savior more and more extravagant things in return for his services. Despite having pointed out on multiple occasions that he hadn't won the war single handedly, the public continued to look to him.

Finally, in exchange for his services to the whole of Magical Britain, Harry had asked for something that the masses couldn't seem to fathom. He asked, after willingly sharing his memories with Minister Kingsley, that Severus Snape be hailed as a hero and given a portrait in the Headmaster's office of Hogwarts. That, regardless of being deceased, he be awarded an Order of Merlin, First Class, and he'd asked for the deeds to Spinners End. In addition, he'd requested that Draco and Narcissa Malfoy be cleared of any and all charges, hailing them as heroes as well, stating that he would've died without their help.

Despite their shock at his requests, they'd been honored without question, and after that Harry had slowly begun slipping away from the public eye.

The teen stood silently among the wide expanse of knowledge, breathing in the atmosphere of a place long since empty, inhabited only by memories. It smelled of aged paper and the nature bound odor of potions ingredients. Books housed every available space along the far wall, some of them bought brand new from Flourish and Blotts, others written long before he was ever born. The chairs were well worn, the leather shaped and faded along the tall backs, wood feet darkened with age, sitting before a cold fireplace not lit in ages. The only thing missing was thick layers of dust, easily taken care of by the house keeper that came by once a week.

It was homey in a way, and Harry had no trouble admitting that he'd feel comfortable here if anybody other than Snape had lived there.

Harry moved through the house with careful footsteps, hushed by his desire to let the memories housed within its walls remain silent and asleep, making his way to the Potion Masters personal Brewing Room. The cauldrons there were well used but expertly taken care of, each table sporting a burner and various places to store ingredients, cutting utensils and other things of that degree.

Finding the ingredients cupboard wasn't difficult and as Harry peered inside, he was pleased to note that the assorted substances he'd discovered along his journey had safely found their way to Spinners End.

Of course Harry had no doubt that Blip could follow instructions, but it was still nice to see that his hard work had paid off. Among the shelves sat a wide variety of ingredients for both potions and practical use. The hairs from a saltwater mermaid, African wood nymph splinters, Acromantula silk, phoenix ashes, Norwegian Pixey Dust, Vietnamese vapor flies, and even, from one particularly nasty occasion, the bark of an ancient Pegan god taking the form of an apple tree. In all his time across the globe, Harry never missed the opportunity to grab tokens along the way, especially if he ran into beings that refused to allow him passage without a fight.

Though fairly nervous, Blip never failed to come when called, collecting the items and delivering them to Spinners End to await his later inspection.

Harry shifted through the glass containers, mumbling each of their names as he pushed the glass aside, his eyes scanning the messily scrawled lables in search of something specific before a humph of accomplishment slipped between the wizards lips. Victorious fingers plucked the basilisk's venom from the shelf, a smirk curling Harry's lips as he considered the murky liquid.

If only finding the cloak of a dementor could be so easy. He sighed, the mood slightly dimmed as the green eyed male closed up the cabinet, locking it with a firm flick of his wand.

Despite the fact that Harry wasn't entirely comfortable within Spinners End, the well worn home made him feel thoughtful. It was a place of indecision. He'd found that his turmoil about Professor Snape had inadvertently been transferred over to the house, and within its walls, he allowed himself to consider the balance of right and wrong.

There was no denying that the boy-who-lived was stubborn. His thoughts tended to be all consuming, all or nothing so to speak, and he had no qualms about his decision to bring back Lord Voldemort from the dead. The idea began as a question that steadily grew into an obsession deep within the far corners of his heart, but it was also a calculated risk, one that could be corrected if things went badly.

He was the Master of Death, and Harry had no doubt what so ever that if the outcome turned ugly, Death could take care of the resurrected Dark Lord, making it appear as if he'd never been there at all.

However, below his logical certainty that it would work, laid the emotionally dominant heart of his younger self that insisted that what he was doing was wrong. Harry had the opportunity to bring somebody back from the grave, an unparalleled gift, and he was using it on Lord Voldemort, the man that'd murdered his parents and set him down the path of his complicated life.

But he wasn't bringing back Voldemort, not really. Parts of him, yes, but in reality he was giving life back to Tom Riddle. They were not one and the same. Voldemort was, to Harry, an unforgiving creature born of his suffering, brought to life through the death of James and Lily Potter. Tom Riddle was the prodigy of Hogwarts, a brilliant mind that'd been lead astray by anger and hurt.

Harry moved from the brewing room and sat mindlessly upon the worn leather chair in front of the absent fire, his eyes staring at the empty space.

Within the sanctuary of his own mind, Harry Potter could see and admit where they were similar, and though he didn't dwell on it often, the teen recognized that he could've very well ended up like Voldemort. They were both orphans, distrusted and hated by the ones they'd been entrusted to, punished for the gifts they'd been given without reason or explanation. In time, both males considered Hogwarts to be the only true home either of them had, and both of their lives had been influenced by Dumbledore, regardless of which direction they went.

Lord Voldemort was what Harry would've become without the love of his friends.

There was resentment towards the Dursleys, a sort of hatred that'd grown within his heart like a poisonous flower during the years of his abuse, and though Harry was fractionally ashamed to admit such a thing, he acknowledged that when he'd discovered the many different varieties of magic, he'd dreamed about hurting the Dursleys. In the beginning, Harry Potter, Savior of the Light, had laid in bed at night, fantasizing about the many different ways he could punish his relatives for what'd been done to him, for all the times he'd been starved, beaten or neglected for something that wasn't his fault.

But for the friendship of his two dearest friends, Harry wouldn't have hesitated to do as he dreamed. He would've proudly faced the consequences of his dark choices if it meant that the Dursleys would get what they deserved. But that'd changed.

He met Ron and Hermione, and even after all the odd things that were drawn to him, they hadn't backed away. The duo supported him, faced the monsters beside him, came to his aid without question. They were, without a doubt, the closest thing to a family that he'd ever known, and if letting go of his hatred and his anger meant staying with them, he'd done it.

But things could've been very different.

There was no denying that he missed them, missed the friendship they'd had once upon a time. If there was one thing he regretted, it was that he'd let his connection to them drift after his rather nasty break up with Ginny.

More than that though, in the face of his choices, Harry wondered, not for the first time, how they would react. How everyone would react, in fact. To his immortality, to the choices made during his journey, to the way he'd chosen to live his life.

Quite some time ago, after much prodding, Death had admitted to the teen that those that passed on had the ability to view the mortal world if they chose to do so. In turn, Harry often wondered how his parents felt about his choices, about whether or not they would've supported his journey, his friendship with Death and, most recently, if they would've ever understood the reasoning behind his quest to bring Voldemort back from the dead. He thought of Remus and Sirius, and if they would've abandoned him if they'd still been alive.

Almost as a second thought, Harry pulled the smooth black stone from his pocket and stared at the cracked surface of the smallest Hallow. For a number of days, the wizard considered summoning one of them, but he'd been met with internal resistance.

It was one thing to wonder, to juggle the idea that the ones he loved would possibly disapprove, but it was another thing entirely to take the leap and find out. Once summoned, there would be no taking back whatever was spoken. And what would be do if they disapproved? Could he stand by the choice regardless of what they thought?

Deep in thought, Harry unconsciously rolled the stone between his fingers, considering those that he knew, nervously picturing their reactions in his mind's eye.

"Harry."

The smooth baritone of that voice made the wizard still, the stone nearly falling from his fingers before the hoy of reunion pulled the teen from his frustration, a widening smile splitting his face as the green eyed wizard looked up at his Godfather.

It was like a sun burst against the cage of his ribs, the sight of this man.

He was just as Harry remembered him, calm and laid back, the aristocratic look of his features betraying the nature of his bloodline, but where the man's eyes would've been warm with welcome, they sat cold and flat. A frown lingered heavily, and Harry soon found the smile falling from his lips.

He was disappointed.

"Sirius.."

His frown deepened and the elder crossed his arms, disapproval stamped across every one of his features "What are you thinking, Harry!? Are you barking?"

Emotion gripped the teen's throat. Of course he'd known that they probably wouldn't understand or agree, but Sirius' distinct lack affectionate nickname conveyed the seriousness of his words. His Godfather wasn't happy to see him in the least. There was no understanding in his stance, no scrap of support.

Harry's lack of responce only proved to make the animagus more furious at his godson, "You can't bring Voldemort back from the dead, Harry!"

Why? Why couldn't he do that? If the people of the Afterlife knew so much, couldn't they see how hopeless their world was becoming? Didn't they know what was to come? It was only a matter of time before the magicals of Great Britian became weak with containment. Their magical cores would shrink, entire branches of magic would be forgotten by their culture, and eventually they would end up as little more than squibs.

They were careless, constantly disregarding the laws governing secrecy. It wouldn't be long before Muggles discovered them and what then? Did they really think that non magical would welcome them into their society with open arms? It wouldn't happen that way. Maybe at first, but humans feared what they didn't understand, and soon they would attack. Muggles out numbered wizards by vast amounts, and no matter how effective magic was, they would be overwhelmed and, most likely, slaughtered like animals.

Frustration snapped the dark haired wizard from his emotional hurt, "Why not, Sirius!"

The elder spluttered, "What do you mean 'why not', he's a psychopath, Harry! You saw what he was capable of!"

Harry's eyebrows pinched but he stood his ground, "He was insane then! His soul was fractured and he wasn't in his right mind!"

"You don't get to speak to me about people being in their right mind, Harry Potter." Sirius hissed

Avada Kadavra green eyes met and returned the furious glare that his Godfather was sending him, his fingers clenched into fists, "He was a leader once, Sirius, and - "

The elder roared with bitter laughter, going as far as to double over in an over exaggerated display of sarcastic wit, "And you saw just how well that went!"

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, unrelenting anger rolling from the teen in thick heavy waves as he stared down the man across from him. Sirius hadn't even let him finish before cutting him off with ill-placed humor when all the dark haired wizard wanted was to be taken seriously as he stated his case.

"He was great once!"

Harry's sudden exclamation made the spirit take pause, a disgusted sneer capturing his features before he replied, "Great? You call murdering hundreds of people great? He killed James and Lily! He's the reason your  _godson_  is an orphan, Harry!"

A rush of fury induced color flooded the teen's cheeks, his body nearly trembling as the anxiety induced rush of adrenaline made his heart slam, "They were in his way!"

In the past, the look of betrayal that dawned his godfather's face would've been enough to make the boy hesitate, to step back and apologize, but after so many years of keeping it bottled up, Harry couldn't stop the words that dripped from his tongue like acid.

"They were on the other side, Sirius! The enemy! Inducted members of the Order of the Phoenix! It was them or him. He gave her three chances to stand aside and she wouldn't! How many chances would you give a Death Eater before firing off a curse?,You think you're so straight and narrow, firmly seated in the Light but you come from a dark family. You have a dark magic oriented core, Sirius! You should now better than anybody that neutral and dark magic have a place in this world, that people of creature blood have a rights too!"

Driven fury made the air cackle with magic and Harry's emotions steadily became more and more intense, "You all thought Dumbledore was so high and mighty, but he was really just a manipulative old man that couldn't let go of his dreams of power. It always had to be his way. There was no questioning his motives or what he deemed to be necessary. All he did was hide secrets from people, you with their lives, all the while treating them like disposable pawns for his stupid little game."

"He was no better than Voldemort. Maybe he didn't kill people, he just convinced them to throw their lives away for what he considered to be the Greater Good."

The teen's eyes narrowed, his words coming out in a sharp and unforgiving hiss, "That manipulative bastard left me in that hell hole for seventeen years, Sirius. Content to ignore my abuse in favor of knowing that it would make me pliant, eager to please and to be accepted. He made my choices for me, but no more! I will not let one old wizard with a god complex rule me from the grave!"

Barely contained emotion boiled below the surface, threatening to spill over as the boy-who-lived glared at his Godfather, his fingers shifting restlessly against his thigh as the adrenaline pumped thick and heavy through his veins.

The elder appeared speechless, a look of disbelief plastered across his features despite. Harry had no problem believing that the other man's face would've been flushed with anger were he still alive, but the younger wizard didn't care.

After a moment of silence between them, Sirius seemed to compose his features, a disapproving frown curving his lips as he looked to James Potter's son, "Lily died to protect you and this is how you're going to repay her? By bringing her killer back to life so he can destroy the rest of the Wizarding world?"

"Your parents would be so ashamed, Harry."

Emotional agony shredded the boy's heart at his comment, destroying the fragile strand of hope within in an instant, white hot waves of hurt tearing through all the defenses he'd built, and for the moment, Harry felt as though he couldn't breathe. The words had the desired effect, and Harry could feel the thick crack go all the way down to the very bottom of his soul as his Godfather drove the blade in deep.

At the first sign that he'd gotten through the stubborn nature of his best friend's son, Sirius approached the teen, his voice soft, "You can't bring back Voldemort, Harry, you just can't."

Confusion held the boy tightly in its grasp, digging its claws in deep but as Harry looked to his Godfather, he caught the briefest flicker of the past, of five identical faces reflected back at him from within the forests of Albania. He thought of what they said that day, of the different paths he could've taken had the green eyes wizard been strong enough to make decisions for himself. All his life, he'd allowed others to lead, to make the worthy choices of his life, but as he looked to Sirius, Harry knew that he had to stand up for himself sometime.

The teen was right about Voldemort and he knew it. The Dark wizard would change everything, of that Harry had no doubt, and though he had no proof that it would change be for better, the immortal wizard was willing to risk it.

In a show of true Gryffindor courage, Harry leaned forward and leveling his gaze with Sirius', "Watch me."

And with that he dropped the stone, watching the appreciation disappear in an instant, knowing that the small rock would return to him eventually, before walking out of Spinners End, the door slamming shut behind him in a show of finality.

This was his choice, and for the first time in many years, Harry felt the weight lift from his shoulders, allowing him to breathe freely. He could do it, he could stand up to his Godfather, and memory of his parents. Because that's all they were.

A memory.


	3. Chapter 3

**May 16th, 2009**

Upon his return, Death was kind enough not to ask about what occurred at Spinners End. Harry was sure that the immortal had a pretty good idea, as he was the guardian of the barrier and a soul couldn't return without him knowing about it, but the green eyed wizard was infinitely grateful for his momentary silence.

In the grand scheme of things, Harry felt that he'd made the right choice, however, that didn't stop the lingering hurt from burrowing itself deeper beneath the wizard's skin.

People often said that words couldn't hurt you unless you let them, but in his own personal experience, Harry found that words tended to hurt whether you wanted them to or not. They had a way of splitting an old wound wide open again, bringing previous emotional trauma right back to the surface. There were things you could do, masks to wear, but that never really stopped the hurt. Even after years of hardening himself against the harsh words of others, Harry still felt it, the pain that could only be brought forward by the scalding words spoken by somebody that you respected and cared about.

And despite everything, regardless of what was said, Harry loved and respected Sirius Black.

Harry trudged through the wide expanse of his home, walking the familiar halls before finding his room, disappearing inside and promptly flopping down on his bed. Hot tears pooled in the wizard's eyes as he curled up in a tight ball, ruthlessly trying to ignore any and all thoughts of his godfather or his parents. Despite wanting to appear ever strong before his unearthly companion, Harry knew that there was a time and place for tears, and even without having known what happened, the teen was positive that Death wouldn't begrudge the physical proof of the affect his godfather's words had on his heart.

Darkness coiled lovingly around the emotionally damaged boy, enveloping him in the the stillness of silence, the distinct lack of light that he'd learned to find comforting as a child.

Harry wished that he would've never summoned the soul of his godfather. It'd been easier thinking that, perhaps, Sirius would've understood some of what he was trying to accomplish rather than knowing that he was angry and disappointed.

The green eyed wizard tried to shove those thoughts aside, burrowing deeper into the plush expanse of his duvet, ignoring the dull ache in his chest. Life would go on, of that much he was sure. The ever present flow of time would continue on as it'd done across the ages, regardless of the pain. Such was true for all things.

In those moment of shock, time appeared to stop, to absolutely cease to be. It was almost as if every breath laid suspended in wait, and the world slowed to a halt, too stunned to continue spinning as it should.

Harry himself couldn't deny that he'd felt such a thing a fair amount of times in his lifetime, but none so shocking as when he'd witnessed Sirius falling through the Veil.

Even after all these years, Harry's consciousness still rejected the memory, unable to cope with the intense waves of utter anguish that'd destroyed him down to the very foundation of his soul. Never before had Harry felt so breathless, so consumed with emotion.

In that moment, everything existed in a sort of blurred clarity. He could remember the look of surprise on the older wizard's face, the brilliant spark of life within his eyes fading, turning unresponsive in that split second of time. Within the Department of Mysteries, Harry could recall the exact placement of dust motes in that moment, the unnaturally airy flow of the Veil and the soft whispers behind it. Without even trying her could see the moment Sirius slipped away, unknowing, and Harry could remember the abnormally tight grip Remus had on him, the way the werewolf trembled behind him as the green eyed teen screamed into the Veil, his heart pierced with agony. But everything else remained shrouded in gray, lingering behind the fragile fog of memory, of human error.

In the past, Harry thought that Sirius dying was the worst that could happen; that nothing could take his breath away like watching the closest thing he had to a family slip away into the unknown, but the boy-who-lived found that this was much worse.

The world didn't stand still for this, it continued on as it was. Sirius lived on in the Afterlife, ashamed of the choices made by his godson, sure in his accusations that James and Lily were disappointed in him as well.

Somehow, that was infinitely worse than all of them being dead, of being ignorant to their thoughts on how he chose to live his life.

As he laid coiled tightly in despair, Harry blocked out the world around him, failing to register the Ancient being's presence until Death sat beside him. The shallow dip in the mattress alerted the saddened teen to his mentors arrival, but he said nothing.

There was nothing he could say, nothing he wanted to say.

Death looked down at the boy and frowned, reaching out to run his fingers fondly through Harry's untamable black hair. The faintest glint of a smile touched the immortal's eyes when Harry didn't flinch away from his touch, but his frown quickly returned when the green eyed boy pulled the feathered duvet closer to his chest.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what'd happened, and though he couldn't be absolutely sure who Harry summoned, he was positive that it'd been either Lily or Sirius. Possibly Remus. Only they could've done this sort of damage.

"Harry."

They sat in silence as the dark haired wizard ignored him, making the immortal's frown deepen. He wasn't offended in the slightest, but he'd never seen Harry this way, cheeky as he was. The boy always had something to say, something to add, and to see him so still, so quiet, was almost unnatural.

It only served to cement what he'd already assumed, but Death still sighed, " I cannot tell you what's on the other side, Harry, but I can tell you that this life does have an end. There will always be those that dislike you for your choices. No matter who you are or what you do, there will always be people who hate you you merely Because you breathe, but this is your life."

The elder paused and though he was once again met with silence, he knew the boy was listening, "You don't owe them anything, Harry. They're dead, child, and even if they weren't, this is your life to lead, and nobody can take that from you unless you allow them too."

With that, Death went to leave, intending to allow his ward time to think but before he could make a move to walk away, dexterous fingers ensnared the Immortal's wrist, stilling the elder, "Stay?"

His request was spoken softly, the vulnerable nature of his emotional state bared for all to see with that one simple word but Death didn't find fault with the teen for needing companionship.

In an unearthly graceful movement, the white haired wizard seated himself at the end of Harry's bed with his back to the headboard, watching the covered lump of blankets that was his Master, and for a long while they sat in silence, comfortable in their company. Death often found his easy going silences to be one of the boy's better qualities, and he had no problem lingering quietly within the darkness but after a while, the elder began thinking back on his own life.

He considered the reactions he'd recieved from his brother's after asking Death for the Invisibility Cloak all those years ago and before he could think better of it, the Immortal found himself turning towards the unspoken teen, "Once upon a time, I too found those around me disappointed by my choices."

At the confession, Death was met with the faintest rustle of movement and for the first time in hours, Harry made a move to sit up, the blankets falling away from his body as he shifted around, sitting opposite of Death with his knees to his chest, arms wrapped protectively around them, but he said nothing, waiting for the elder to continue.

Ever shifting eyes settled within the empty darkness of the space they shared as the ancient being thought back to his human life, the memories dull and faded compared to those that he'd recieved as an immortal. Over seven hundred years he'd walked this Earth in the body of his mortal self, and yet, even now, he was still unsure of the choice he'd made in the beginning.

"I wasn't like them, Antioch and Cadmus. They had no time for patience or thought beyond the here and now. They were reckless, Antioch most of all. When we came upon that bridge, they gave no thought to what they were asking for, of the being they were trying to con."

Death shifted his gaze from the darkness to the curious looking teen across from him, "Nothing given like that should ever be taken at face value, Harry. Nothing of that nature comes without a price, eventual or otherwise."

A frown darkened the light haired wizard's face, "They were foolish, and so was I."

Twin brows knit in disagreement but Death held up a hand before the impassioned wizard could object, "Not so much as them, but I was. I shouldn't have accepted the gift, Harry."

"I wasn't shocked in the slightest that Antioch asked for the most powerful wand in existence, nor when Cadmus requested the power to bring back the dead, but after hearing their reasoning behind the items they chose, I couldn't find it within myself to think of them as any less than foolish."

Remembered irony twisted the immortal's lips into a sneer, "And yet, it was I who received the brunt of their displeasure. What I had chosen was seen as cowardly, the least helpful of the three. What did an invisibility cloak matter when there were Disillusionment Charms and cloth weaved from Demiguise hair?"

"The frequency of our arguments were the cause of our eventual separation. I wasn't surprised in the least when I heard of their end."

Harry thought over the Death's words with a softened frown, watching as the pains of words long since passed drifted through his companion's conscious, the immortal's emotions shifting lazily across his features as he sat thoughtful and undisturbed in the depths of memory.

It seemed strange to once again realize that, at one point, the man before him had been mortal. There was a period of his life where he hadn't been all-knowing, ageless and drenched in undeniable power. He'd been a boy once, a child with two older brothers, a teenager that followed the lead of those older and wiser than him, a man that was eventually chosen to bare the heavy gift of immortality.

Confusion draped heavily across the teen's face as his thought process came to an abrupt halt, "Hang on, if your predecessor created the Hallows, how did the Death before him decide who to pass the spirit to?"

For the first time since they'd come together, amusement replaced the serious expression on the immortal's face, a fond smile lifting his lips, "Finally figured it out did you?"

A soft flush colored the teen's cheeks and he looked away with minor embarrassment, "Well yeah, it wasn't hard to figure out. You said Death was a spirit, so what better way to keep watch over potential mortals to give his legacy to than with three magical items that would, not only, test their spirits, but their character as well?" The teen crossed his arms, grumbling slightly "It wouldn't take a Ravenclaw to figure that one out."

Death snorted with entertainment at the teen's blatant attitude, "Of course, Harry, of course."

The green eyed wizard huffed but settled back against the headboard, making a show of his arms being crossed before Death continued, "But what you say is true. The Hallows were originally created to serve as a way to track potential hosts for Death's spirit."

"However, such items have always existed. They've taken many different shapes, each changing with the passing ages and the wizards who request them."

The immortal crossed his legs, watching with a certain amount of enjoyment as the dark haired Gryffindor relaxed as his thirst for the unknown surpassed his desire to appear offended, "As all things eventually do, the relics get lost. Buried under the passage of time, and when that time comes, they dissolve and the current host chooses three new wizards to present with gifts."

"My predecessor was the first to make an offer to three wizards who knew eachother, let alone three brothers all present at once. It was unheard of."

Harry bit his lower lip as he stored the information away, connecting it with what he already possessed before frowning, a perplexed look stamped across his face, "I don't understand why Death has to be passed from mortal to mortal. How can you.. it.." Harry's lips pressed together in a thin line as he struggled for the proper pronoun, "he, not have the power to make create a body that would last. You're the most powerful being in existence!"

Death barked out a sharp laugh, "Oh no, no, no, Harry. While I may be one of the oldest and most powerful entities in exist, I'm certainly not the most powerful."

Harry huffed, going back to crossing his arms, "That doesn't answer my question, Death."

The elder smiled fondly at his ward, "All things must eventually die, Harry. It is the way of the world."

Judging by the growing frown, the white haired wizard knew that his answer hadn't satisfied the boy in any way. Such was to be expected. After the things they'd witnessed within the wild places of their world, Harry developed an unquenchable thirst for the knowledge hidden within the ages and such a vague answer would never satisfy his desire.

Death leaned forward and captured the wizard's wrist, giving a reassuring squeeze before turning his hand palm up, "All is one and one is all. That is the riddle I was left with after my soul was joined with the spirit of Death."

Harry looked confused, but the teen was wise enough not to try and push ahead.

"The world is the all and we are the one."

"Everything has a place in this world, Harry. Good and evil, life and death, love and hate. All creatures that walk this Earth have a purpose. They're all part of the flow of life, and eventually, death."

The immortal frowned at his own words, not offering an explanation for his sudden change of mood before he released the boy's wrist, "As a true Immortals, we are tasked with the duty of watching this world, guiding it from the shadows."

Instantaneous curiosity took the teen by relentless storm and try as he may, Harry couldn't seem to stop the question from bubbling up to his lips, a faint blush colouring his cheeks, "We?"

Death's fond smirk returned, "Of course. You didn't really think that I was the only concept to take human form did you?"

The scalding blush coloring the rise of his cheeks darkened and Harry wouldn't fight the sheepish grin that captured his lips. In all honesty, he'd never actually thought about it, but in hindsight of what he'd been told and the things he already knew, the green eyed wizard found that he wasn't actually all that surprised by the revelation.

Death waved off his curiosity with an amused look, "Times change, Harry. That is the nature of this world and all that inhabit it. Time flows, and things mature. That is true for the all as well as the one. The world changes over time, just as people do."

"I'm sure you've heard, as well as experienced, that suffering builds character."

Harry nodded, swallowing thickly as he recalled his own character building before returning his focus to the white haired man across from him.

"The greatest leaders have always been those that've experienced adversity. Those that walk the life of man, knowing the hardship of morality will always be better suited to guide the mortal plane."

Death appeared thoughtful, "You cannot guide what you do not know or understand, Harry. Do you understand?"

The boy frowned, obviously rolling the older man's words around within his mind, processing what'd been said and what it meant in response to their earlier conversation, before finally parting his lips to speak.

"So.. Death's spirit changes hands so that they can use their mortal experience to change the world for the better? To understand better?"

A pleased smile touched the immortal's lips as he dipped his head, acknowledging the correct assessment of his Master, "Exactly."

Harry sat back against the sturdy oak frame of his headboard, his eyes glassy with thought as he took it all in.

Familiar silence enveloped the pair in a quiet and comfortable sense of calm as the early morning rays of sunlight began streaming through the windows, illuminating the darkened room one shade at a time and Death found that it was interesting, to watch the thoughts flow undisturbed across the boy's face. He really was an open book, if only one knew how to read what was being written. The emotions, the questions as well as their eventual answers, the thinly veiled excitement. It was all there, the boy's entire consciousness on blatant display for those that were clever enough to see it.

Time passed slowly, lazily drifting from one second to the next, but Death paid it no mind. What were a couple of hours to an Immortal?

"Does it bother you that I never call you by your given name?"

Ever-changing eyes flickered back to the Avada Kadavra ones of his Master, a endearing look crossing his face, "No."

"I may have been mortal once, but I haven't been Ignotus Peverell in many years; I am merely what I've become, child."

A puzzled frown met the boy's lips, "And what is that?"

The immortal stood gracefully from where he'd been sitting, giving a small stretch before looking back at the green eyed wizard, "Death, Harry. That is who and what I am."

The warmth of fondness crept back into his smile as Death turned to his Master and pulled the duvet back up around his frame, "Get some sleep. We have much to accomplish tomorrow."

Inquisitive green eyes gazed at the lightening sky with a sense of surprise before Harry looked to his mentor, "What do you mean?"

Death snickered but didn't elaborate, merely content to make his way across the dimly lit bedroom towards the door, "Just as I said. Goodnight, Harry."

With a flick of his wrist, the curtains were drawn, plunging the room back into darkness as the immortal slipped from the room, closing the door with a quiet click, leaving the exasperated teen to wonder what could possibly be in-store for him around the bend.

* * *

**May 17th, 2009**

Unearthly cries of despair called to the boy-who-lived, making his skin crawl with unease as he stared at the unnatural structure before him. Towering walls of obsidian rising from the crashing waves of the sea, ominous and imposing in the way that only Azkaban could be.

It was timeless in a horrific sort of way, with the angry shrill calls of the relentless sea at its feet and the ever darkened sky up above, the undeniable monstrosities of their world held tight in its heart.

Death stood tall and unyielding beside the green eyed teen but in this suspended moment of time, Harry did not derive comfort from his company. The land before the crashing waves was dead, unable to hold onto the fragile threads of life in the face of this accursed place. An unnatural sense of bone-chilling frost hung heavy, unflinching in the air, making it almost difficult to breathe, and no amount of Warming Charms did anything to chase away the growing scatter of gooseflesh that covered the exposed areas of his body.

They didn't belong here.

Harry could feel it in the Earth, taste it in the salty spray of the sea; he could hear it in the howls of the wind and the foreboding atmosphere surrounding their presence and for the first time in many years, the wizard wanted to turn tail and flee.

With an unconscious shiver, Harry tilted his head up, looking to his mentor in a show of good will, "Are you sure about this?"

Death responding smile did nothing to quell his rising discomfort, "I am. Come, Harry."

They Apperated the short distance across the bay, appearing just before the prison's gates and slipping inside without a hitch.

If he'd felt uncomfortable outside the prison's walls, it was nothing compared to how Harry felt within them.

The halls were deathly silent. Where the air outside had been filled with near constant howling and the crashing of waves, the inside was quiet as the grave. Nothing stirred, nothing spoke. Dully lit torches hung on the walls, the shadows produced by the lazily dancing flames gliding back and forth across the flat slabs of grey stone but that was the only sign life to be found in the accursed place the two beings found themselves in.

Without a word, Death began making his way through the halls with a startling sense of accuracy that could've only been born from practiced familiarity. The green eyed wizard supposed that it wasn't that big of a stretch. He was Death after all. It wasn't as though people didn't eventually die in Azkaban.

The only thing he found truly odd was the lack of Dementors. He'd always imagined that the halls of Azkaban were crawling with them and that finding one would be the easiest thing in the world. They weren't hard to spot after all, and you could usually feel one coming a mile away.

As if sensing his thoughts, the elder being glanced down at the teen beside him, his voice nearly booming in the unnatural silence of their surroundings, "Dementors reside in a nest at the very peak of this tower."

Harry's brows pulled together in a look of confusion, "Shouldn't they be.. erm.. guarding the cells of something?"

Death chuckled in genuine amusement before pausing beside one of the many empty cells, his long dexterous fingers running down the rune engraved expanse of stone, "It wasn't always this way, especially before the end of the Second War, but within these rooms, their magic is bound. They can't escape unless a magical being opens the door."

"Or if somebody blasts the wall open.." Harry mumbled, thinking back to the true beginning of the war and the mass prisoner escape.

The white haired immortal smiled but said nothing as they continued on, making their way further and further up the tower.

Once he managed to get past the unearthly nature of the silence and the chill within the walls, Harry had to admit that it wasn't nearly as scary as he'd imagined. It made it easier that every inch of the place wasn't crawling with dementors. In all actuality, the place itself was rather dull, if not quite lonely.

Sadness darkened the wizard's eyes as he thought of his godfather. Even though things went sour between them, Harry couldn't stop the emotional knife that went through his heart as he imagined Sirius trapped in one of these cells for twelve long years. He could imagine the rage that his godfather must have felt knowing that he was being blamed for the death of his best friends, or the frustration of not knowing where his godson was or how he was going to get out of Azkaban.

And as he knew, some memories couldn't be relived without awakening others. Bright green eyes became glassy and far away as Harry momentarily zoned out, thinking of his third year. He thought of how he'd thought that Sirius was going to kill him, and his constant run-ins with the dementors sent to guard Hogwarts.

"Death?"

The immortal hummed in acknowledgment, looking down at his ward in question.

Harry frowned, thinking back to the many tines that he'd come face to face with the dark creatures, thinking of the chill that captured his heart and buried itself in his very bones, of the feelings of dread and the air of hopelessness that'd encompassed him, "What are dementors? What are they really?"

In an uncharacteristic display of surprise, the white haired wizard stopped in his tracks for a brief second, his eyes appearing troubled before he returned to his previous pace, "I don't know."

Harry nearly stumbled as he scrambled to make up the small distance that the immortal had created between them, "What do you mean, you don't know? You have to know! You're Death!"

Rich baritone laughter echoed around them as Death nearly doubled over in exaggerated laughter, "You flatter me, Harry, but I really don't. There are some things that even I don't know."

His colorless lips pressed into a thin line of what appeared to be very nearly agitation, "As far as I know, nobody knows. Nobody knows how a dementor is born or how they come into being."

"Magic and myself often argued that something truly horrifying would have to happen to birth one of them. At first we assumed that it was due to human genocide, or perhaps even an overly tortured soul that'd died in a violent situation way beyond those of the normal world, but we've never uncovered the answer. There's no correlation with war and new dementors popping up or otherwise."

Harry looked up at his mentor in confusion, "Popping up? You mean that they just appear? Full grown? They aren't born?"

The immortal nodded, understanding of the disbelief that colored the Gryffindor's tone, "Yes. They appear in this life just as quickly as they disappear from it."

"Now hang on," Harry stopped in his tracks, crossing his arms across his chest, looking frustrated at his own inability to comprehend the sheer audacity of it all, "Dementors just appear out of nowhere, full grown and ready to suck souls? Then how do they die?"

Death stilled for a moment as well, looking almost lost, "That too a mystery."

The ancient being chuckled at Harry's nearly offended look, "But how can you not?! I mean, I understand not knowing how they come to life, but I mean, dying is sort of your area! How can you not know?"

In an action that seemed much to human, Death scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully, "There are some things that even I do not know, Harry, and dementors are one of them. They come and go from this life on their own terms. I don't deal with the deaths of dementors, nor have I ever seen one die a natural death."

"All we know is that when a dementor dies, the ground where the body falls turns sour. The soil is poison to all that surrounds it. The grass and the plants die and nothing is ever able to grow there again. Except for Deadly Nightshade."

Harry seemed to accept the explanation well enough as they both began walking, his eyes glazed with thought as they made their way through the winding halls of Azkaban.

They must've been getting close now.

Thin sheets of ice covered the walls, making the unnatural chill surrounding them even denser. The cells here were no longer empty. The doors were shut and locked tight, the runes glowing faintly along each one and as they continued on, Harry could feel the dread of lost hope. It hung heavy and haunting in the air, so thick that the teen could nearly choke on it with each and every breath that he took.

As they continued along the path, Harry began to feel something familiar. Suppressed magic clung stubbornly to the air and before he could think to ignore it, Harry turned down the seemingly abandoned hallway, ignoring Death's annoyed call for him to return.

The curious wizard closed his eyes, blocking out the damp chill and the cloying emotion, following only the beaconing feeling of previously known magic. Despite not knowing who it belonged to Harry knew that he'd felt it before. It was dark, old and heavy in the way that only a pureblood could manage and it reminded the daring teen of Voldemort.

Without a word he stopped in front of a tightly sealed doorway, rising on his tiptoes to peer into the small opening, only to gasp at what met his gaze.

There, coiled on the rock solid bed, was a wizard that Harry never thought he'd see again. Long, pale blonde hair laid dirty and tangled against his shoulders, his face lined with the passing of ages even though it'd only been a few years, but the brash young Gryffindor would know that aristocratic face anywhere.

Lucius Malfoy.

It was then that the most brilliant of brilliant ideas popped into his head.

Harry whipped around, pleased to note that Death had followed and stood only a few steps away, "Can we kidnap somebody from Azkaban?"

The elder frowned, glancing into the cell with a knowing look, "For what?"

With a faint blush Harry managed to look nearly embarrassed, his eyes darting to the thick layer of rune etched stone, "Well, I've always kind of liked Lucius. But I think it will benefit us."

A single white eyebrow raised in question, "Again, for what? Are you planning to use him as your sacrifice?"

A sudden look of horror overcame the boy's features so quickly that the immortal could do nothing but chuckle, "I assume not, then?"

"Of course not!"

Harry huffed, appearing almost frustrated that he needed to explain, "Dementors can feel when somebody leaves Azkaban when they're not supposed to, right?"

The dark entity dipped his head, already beginning to see where this was going, "Yes."

The-Boy-who-Lived gestured to the sealed door, "Well, if he breaks out the dementors will come after him, won't they? It'll be easier to deal with the dementors on our own playing field than it will be to walk right into their nest to steal the cloak strips."

Ignotus was mildly impressed at the teen's reasoning but he didn't allow it to show on his face, "You make a fair point. Agreed."

Death ran his nearly skeletal fingers along the door's edge, tracing over the runes as he whispered softly, the flush of immortal magic washing over the pair like a burst of long forgotten sunlight for the briefest moment before the door swung open without a sound.

Death made a move to enter, but Harry stopped him with a brief touch, "Do you know if Barty Crouch Jr. is imprisoned here as well?"

The immortal's every changing eyes narrowed suspiciously, "He is."

Harry's lips pulled up in a sheepish smile that immediately alerted the immortal to the fact that he was about to be asked to do something that he didn't really feel like doing.

"Will you go get him?"

A resigned sigh pulled from the elder's lips as he looked to the innocent looking youth before him, "Is there a reason for it, or are you just feeling particularly giving?"

Harry sucked in his cheeks a bit, gently worrying his lower lip with blunt human teeth, his gaze thoughtful, "I'm not sure.. I like Barty well enough, he had a fairly good sense of humor when he was stealing Moody's identity but.. I don't know. It's just.. a feeling I've got."

Death stared down into his Master's face, his unfathomable eyes staring into the very depths of Harry's soul before he gave in with an amused sigh, "Of course, young Lord. I'll fetch him."

Harry wrinkled his nose and waved the elder off, "Gah, you know I hate that. Just go get Barty while I rouse Lucius. I'll meet you down at the bottom?"

The immortal nodded in both understanding and acceptance, "Hurry when you leave the cell. The Dementors will know the moment he walks free."

Harry paled a bit at that but of information but he nodded none the less. "Got it. I'll give you a couple minutes to get to Barty and then I'll hurry to meet you."

Death frowned, "If for any reason I'm not at the entrance when you get there, just Apperate back to Grimmauld Place without me."

The uncomfortable way Harry shifted his weight back and forth without saying anything spoke volumes about how he felt about their plan but he didn't object. With clenched fists, the green eyed wizard merely nodded, his lips thinning in irritation.

Unbeknownst to him, Death was internally smirking. How like his Master to not enjoy the idea of leaving him behind, regardless of whether or not he was a powerful and nearly indestructible entity. The unspoken hero complex hard at work.

"I'll be fine, Harry. Go do your thing."

The immortal wizard seemed to very nearly disappear after that, leaving Harry to stand stupidly in the hall, his mouth agape before he quickly composed himself, slipping silently into the unsealed cell.

Despite the fact that Harry knew Lucius didn't have his wand and wasn't a direct threat to his person, he approached with a certain amount of caution. He may not have been armed, but he was still a man, a wizard at that and Harry was positive that the blonde wasn't entirely without defense.

With calm hesitancy, Harry reached out, his hand slow and steady as he grasped the older man's arm, giving him a gentle shake, "Mr. Malfoy..?"

Even though he'd been expecting it, Harry reared back in startled alarm as Lucius jerked awake, his movements frenzied and uncoordinated. He was almost positive that it was due to the cold and the stiffness in his limbs, but it seemed almost unnatural to see the Malfoy patriarch as anything other than the graceful peacock that he often portrayed. The second Lucius whipped around to meet his gaze, the Gryffindor was caught speechless.

Wild grey eyes stared into the Avada Kadavra green of his own, and Harry was instantly swamped with memories of Draco. He'd seen those same eyes filled with anger, swimming with tears, dulled in hopelessness and even alight with fear but as the teen gazed into their depths he began to see the differences. Where Draco's eyes always held a certain amount of youthful innocence, Lucius' shone with wisdom and experience. Their wildness spoke of a near unattainablilty, a spirit that couldn't be tamed, and as Harry offered out an unthreatening hand, watching the disbelief glowing within them, he became even more sure of his choice to help the elder escape.

"Potter?"

His voice was colored with astonishment and for the briefest moment Harry was mildly thrown off, chalking most of it up to his unexpected appearance before realizing what the other probably saw in his face.

He hadn't aged.

Harry was still the same seventeen year old that he'd last seen nearly eight years ago and though the green eyes wizard was sure that Lucius didn't know exactly how long he'd been incarcerated, the blonde was probably aware that it'd been quite some time.

"Listen, I'm sure you've got loads of questions, and I'll try to answer them later but we really need to get out of here." Harry threw a weary look over his shoulder. "Now."

It would've been obvious to anybody watching that the pureblood was lost beyond belief but he didn't question what was being said. He merely stood from his perch with the slightest bit of flourish and gestured for Harry to lead the way.

The teen flashed a grateful smile his way, "I hope you've got enough strength left to run, because we're about to be chased by a bunch of pissed off dementors."

Regardless of the indifferent pureblood etiquette that'd probably been drilled into his personality since birth, Lucius still managed to gape slightly before nodding in agreement, "Lead the way, Mr. Potter."

Harry's smile turned downright dazzling, "Perfect."

And they were off.

* * *

**May 17th, 2009**

The journey back was one of anticipation. For Lucius because he was confused and unaware of what he was doing or why he'd been rescued from Azkaban and for Harry because he knew he'd have a lot of explaining to do.

As it happened, they arrived back at Grimmauld Place before Death and Barty, which was probably a good thing seeing as how Lucius seemed to lose all forms of self discipline as it dawned on him where he was. If Barty were present, Harry was sure that the darker haired man would never let the arrogant peacock live it down.

"This is the Black ancestral home." Lucius said, his voice just barely above a whisper, eyes wide as he took in his surroundings.

Harry nodded, trailing his fingers over the fading wallpaper with a certain sense of nostalgia, "Sirius Black was my godfather, as I'm sure you're well aware. He -" The Gryffindor swallowed down the sudden knot of emotion lodged in his throat as he thought of his godfather and what'd happened between them, "He left me everything when he fell through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries."

Silence fell back between them and Harry was slightly grateful. He hadn't expected Lucius to apologize, for more reasons than one, but his assumptions weren't always right and the teen wasn't exactly sure how he would've felt had the blonde said he was sorry.

Lucius followed behind him by a single step, respectfully allowing Harry to lead before he stopped them both in the sitting room, turning slowly to face the eldest Malfoy.

Harry coughed nervously, trying not to wring his hands as the intimidating blonde stared down at him, "I said I'd answer your questions, and I will, but you look like you could use a hot shower and maybe a good night's sleep."

For the first time since they'd encountered each other, Lucius looked down at himself, seeming to recognize that he was filthy, still dressed in a worn Azkaban uniform. Harry found nothing wrong with it, not really. During his travels he'd encountered much stranger things, but he was still the slightest bit surprised that the cocky pureblood managed to hold himself with sheer indifference and nobility, not the least bit embarrassed about his attire or how he looked.

"You're welcome to any of the rooms upstairs," The teen paused, a sad tilt capturing his lips in an almost frown, "I think that you'd be most comfortable in Regulus' old bedroom, but I ask that you don't go into the one across the hall with Sirius' name on it. Nobody will bother you and we can talk over breakfast."

A faint pink tint colored the green eyed wizard's cheeks as Lucius arched a brow at him, "You're free to leave if you want, but you ARE an escaped prisoner."

A rugged chuckle from Lucius brought a small but victorious smile to his face, replacing the shadow of a frown that'd threatened to take hold, "A little more serious than last time we encountered each other but still as unpredictable as ever, Mr. Potter. Thank you."

Harry nodded, watching with amused interest as Lucius casually turned from him and made his way up the stairs, looking as though he belonged in number twelve Grimmauld Place more than anybody else he'd seen within its walls, bar Sirius.

In the quiet atmosphere the soft click of the front door alerted Harry to the return of his companion and, most likely, Barty Crouch Jr.

Trusting that Death would take care of their guest in a similar manor to how he treated Lucius, the-boy-who-lived slipped silently into the kitchen, content to wait until tomorrow to enjoy the big reveal.

* * *

**May 18th, 2009**

In the late hours of the morning, Harry finally dragged himself from the warm comfort of his bed, eyes very nearly closed as the teen stumbled down the stairs, a sleepy yawn pulling from his lips as he trotted into the kitchen.

"Potter!?"

The wizard's face pinched with displeasure as he dragged his eyes open, only to snort in unabashed amusement at the incredulous look on Barty's face. "That's what Lucius said, too."

Dark hazel eyes came alive with curiosity, "Lucius Malfoy?"

Harry nodded smugly, "The very same."

A small mumble of appreciation passed through the teen's lips as Death wordlessly handed him a cup of coffee. He breathed in deep, taking in the scent of dark Arabica beans and the subtle scent of sugar before taking a cautious sip, a content sigh pulling the morning tension from his limbs.

"Much better."

After watching the small display of blatant humanity, Crouch eyes the tall white haired wizard with a look if suspicion, "What about him?"

A sly smirk curved the teen's lips, his eyes darting to the side, meeting the every-changing gaze of his immortal companion before taking another small sip of his drink, "Patience. All shall be revealed in time."

Death chuckled, unmistakably amused at the boy's words, "You sound like The Godfather."

Emerald eyes blazed with light, an unabashed snicker parting Harry's lips as he turned to look at his friend, "Muggle movies? Really?"

Immortal eyes narrowed in mock disdain before he tilted his head upward in a slightly posh manner, sniffling distastefully before wiping non-existant dust from his robes, "It's a classic."

The look, as well as his assumed attitude, proved to be to much and Harry just lost it, very nearly dropping his half full mug on the ground as his body trembled with unshakable laughter, his lips pulled wide in a brilliant smile.

It was made even worse as footsteps sounded from the door way and the youngest wizard was met with the sight of Lucius Malfoy sweeping in, looking completely immaculate aside from the near bugged out look of his eyes as he spotted the supposedly dead wizard at the table, smiling and very much alive.

"Crouch!"

Barty tipped his head with a smirk, kicking out the seat across the table from him for the blonde, "Malfoy."

Harry watched on with thinly veiled amusement, content to share entertained looks with Death across the room as the two older wizards got comfortable, helping themselves to tea and the breakfast that'd been laid out. He was almost surprised to see it but then again, Lucius was a pureblood and Kretcher as had always been more pleasant to them anyway.

A comfortable silence reigned supreme around the kitchen, the steady sounds of toast being crunched filling in the gaps before Barty finally leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest as he considered those around him, "Alright Potter, now that we're all here, would you care to explain?"

The easygoing smile fell from the green eyed wizard's lips as he sighed and pulled up a chair, straddling it with a sense of unbeknownst grace, "It's a bit of a long story.."

Lucius and Barty both looked at each other before returning their attention to the messy haired teen, "I think we've got time, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded, "Alright."

A quick look at Death told the normally rash teen all he needed to know before he settled more comfortably into his seat, taking a deep breath to soothe the nervousness of his insides, "Well.."

"It all started a long time ago, with three brothers that were in the wrong place at the wrong time…"

* * *

**May 18th, 2009**

It'd taken hours to explain the entire story.

He'd gone back time and time again to fill in missing details or to make connections he'd forgotten the first time about and with each tale the dark haired teen spun, he could see the two elder wizards become more and more invested in his words.

He told them of his father's invisibility cloak; about the three legendary items that were more than a children's story, about Dumbledore's manipulations and what it meant for his life when he encountered all three at once. With the slightest hesitancy, he admitted his inability to cope with life after the war and the obsession that'd taken over his life, as well as his heart. Bright smiles and expressive eyes lit up his face as he told them of his travels, of Albania and the true magic he'd discovered there. He explained his horror, along with his delight, upon his first meeting with Death. He tried to convey the sheer loveliness of the ancient ruins he saw, the various villages he'd visited and how they differed from Great Britian and when it seemed as though the tale was nearly over, Harry told them of his plan.

He told them about the truth behind the Resurrection Stone and how, with the clearest conscious, he'd accepted that he would dip his fingers into what could be considered the darkest magic available to bring his wishes to life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I know that Voldemort still hasn't been resurrected but it's coming, I promise haha. I just want to do it right, that's all. But, don't worry, I plan to have him resurrected by the end of the next chapter(: 
> 
> Also, I had a couple of people ask me if this was going to become a Harry/Death fic and the answer is no. I thought about it and I asked a couple of the people that actively comment/review that story and though they thought it was a cool idea, they didn't really want it for this story, Which is fine lol. I'll probably end up doing a one-shot or a side story if I get some requests. Who knows lol but as of right now and the predicted future of this story, it will remain a HP/LV.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Gorgeous Readers!
> 
> Sorry that it's been so long since the last update. I severely underestimated just how long it takes to write over ten-thousand words! But i got it out as soon as possible, promise(:
> 
> Also! Not sure if it popped up or not, but I replaced all three of the other chapters with an updated version. Nothing really big was changed, but the lovely Halimede made it known that the time jumps in between some of the chapters were a bit hard to follow so I went back and added dates and stuff. You'll see that in this chapter too. Just wanted to let you all know. Also! Big thanks to Halimede for letting me know. I know I didn't get on it right away but I didn't forget!
> 
> I would also like to thank all of the amazing reviewers. You guys sooth my prickly muse. I'm eternally grateful for all the feedback(:
> 
> I suppose I should throw up another disclaimer just for the sake of doing it. I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters. I don't make any money off of this and all rights go to J.K. Rowling. Long live the Queen.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all love the most recent update, let me know what you all think(:
> 
> Ta,
> 
> Majix

**May 18, 2009**

All was quiet.

As agreed, Harry explained to the best of his knowledge, all that he knew and planned for, the nature of his being, and when all was said and done, when everything was out in the open, silence met them all. Nobody dared be the one to break the suspended thread of surrealism, the moment already worn thin by their very presence.

But, to the surprise of everyone, Lucius was the first to speak.

"You are either immeasurably clever or undeniably foolish."

The dazzling smile that met the youth's lips spoke volumes of his ability to be both, his eyes alight with unabashed excitement, "I think the word you're looking for, Mr. Malfoy, is enlightened. Undeniably enlightened."

Lucius sneered at him but it lacked any true venom, something that only made the teen's grin light up that much more, "I shouldn't have expected any less from a Potter."

Snickers circled the group leaving Harry to look mildly sheepish before Barty dropped his shoes from the table's surface and sat up, "So what exactly do you need from us?"

"To be honest, I didn't really think that far ahead," Dark green eyes appeared thoughtful before the wizard shrugged, "It just seemed like the right thing to do."

Barty snorted, "Nothing's changed there."

The aristocratic blonde shook his head, sighing in near exasperation at the teenage wizard that'd somehow managed to bind one of the most powerful entities in the universe, "Your unwavering hero complex astounds even me, Potter."

Harry laughed before waving him off with an amused smile, "Tell me something I don't know. And seriously? Stop calling me "Potter". It makes me feel like I'm about to get scolded."

Regardless of the unflinching pureblood mask the older man wore so proudly, Harry could practically feel the elder's desire to roll his eyes, "Perhaps you need to be scolded."

Death watched the mortal group with a certain sense of amusement before pushing himself away from the counter, gaining the attention of the other three men, "We're going to need to acquire a pair of wands."

Lucius and Barty glanced at each other, trading a silent look to surprise at the knowledge that they'd be receiving wands in the first place only to be pulled back to the present by a short chuckle.

Harry leaned towards them with an air of playful arrogance, "Oh no. Two brilliant gentlemen like yourselves? Barty you're a Ravenclaw, right? Twelve O.W.L.S if I'm not mistaken."

The man in question appeared nearly taken aback at the green eyed teen's words before the younger man turned his sights to Lucius, "And you very nearly became Minister of Magic. Only a small part of that was because of Voldemort."

Harry leaned back dangerously in his chair, balancing his weight on only one of the legs, "You're both exceptional wizards. It'd be a mistake to keep you on the sidelines.

"You can both conjure a Patronus, right?"

In what seemed to be a reoccurring fashion of the evening, the two Death Eaters appeared astonished. It'd been previously assumed that only Severus was able to do such a thing among their side, that Dark magic made it impossible to conjure one. A vicious, and mistaken, rumor spread purposefully by the Dark Lord to draw out terror in the hearts of others but it'd worked. Nobody was ever the wiser, and for some, it'd been a way to prove that you were Imperioused into working for Voldemort, regardless of whether they bore the Mark or not.

Harry scoffed, "Don't look so surprised," he let his chair fall forward, the resounding echo of sturdy oak legs meeting the ground loud among the lingering quiet, "Everybody has memories of their life that make them happy."

"Even Death Eaters." Harry glanced subtly towards his immortal companion, watching as the white haired man dipped his head in the smallest of acknowledgments, confirming the teen's theory without a word, his victorious smile returning once again..

Barty leaned back in his chair, watching the dark haired wizard with an undisguised air of scrutiny, "You are more than you appear."

Harry laughed, green eyes sparkling with something unspoken before he offered a shrug, "I get that a lot. Most people don't actually say it to my face though."

Laughter broke between the two of them and the unstable Ravenclaw couldn't help but to relax a bit. It was nearly impossible to be put off or even weary around the boy. His aura, the brilliant and healthy thrum of his magic was so unbelievably warm. The teen practically radiated his intentions, the truth behind his words. He wouldn't harm them, not really.

Harry wasn't dark by nature. Anybody who'd spent any time at all with the teen would know as much. He was hardened, the steel of his character strengthened by adversity, made unyielding by the repeated plunge into the fire but beneath it all, he was still the same.

A boy turned man with the heart of a lion, a true Gryffindor, brave and unflinching before his duty and what he deemed to be just with all the compassion and understanding of a Hufflepuff. But that was not to be mistaken with weakness because Harry Potter was a snake. While his heart might've been ruled with the passion of emotion, his mind was another creature entirely. Brilliant and cunning, resourceful as any good Slytherin but also clever to a fault. The wit he'd displayed in his explanation of the various puzzles he'd encountered was worthy of any Ravenclaw. He was one of a kind.

Lucius shifted, crossing one of his legs over the other, remaining unbelievably posh and authoritative even in the presence of their current company, "While this is all very touching," He brushed nonexistent lint from his transfigured robes, "What exactly do you propose, Potter?"

The teen appeared annoyed at the blonde's continued insistence of calling him by his surname but, to Barty's surprise, he refused to become ruffled, "Well, eventually I'll need you both to help me subdue a very pissed off Dementor."

Death chuckled at the startled look on both the wizard's faces as they realized that the teen wasn't joking before a pensive look captured the blonde's aristocratic features, drawing the immortal's attention.

"Problem, Lucius?"

A small shiver ran down the elder's spine as Death addressed him but the immortal wasn't offended by it in the least. He knew how he appeared to them, and the vibe he gave off. He'd once heard his presence compared to that of a piano just the slightest bit out of tune; you could recognize the bare bones of the melody, knew what it was supposed to be - but somehow, no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn't manage to sing along.

Mortals felt it in their bones that something was wrong with him, that he wasn't the same as others, but regardless, the pureblood turned to offer him a respectful glance before his eyes darted back to Harry, "I may have been incarcerated in Azkaban for quite some time but I don't imagine the Ministry is just going to sweep a break-out under the rug."

Harry shook his head, "They won't, but it won't be common knowledge for a bit. We've got some time to figure out what to do, what I'm more concerned about is -"

"POTTER! WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME HAVE YOU DONE, POTTER?!"

While the others practically jumped out of their own skins at the unexpected shrieking that rang through the halls, Harry merely leaned back in his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose as he let out a long and heavy sigh, "That."

"DON'T IGNORE ME, POTTER!"

Lucius appeared completely baffled, gaping like a fish, "Draco?"

Normally, the green eyed wizard would've laughed at how often he was managing to surprise the stiff man, making him lose control over the pristine mask of indifference that he normally wore but at that moment, all he could think about was the severe scolding he was about to receive.

Draco wasn't, by any means, what he would consider a close friend but the two got along. They'd traded somewhat formal letters when Harry used his power as the Savior of the Wizarding World to get the youngest Malfoy out of the deep cauldron of trouble he'd found himself in but as time passed, they slowly relaxed. Draco was almost a counselor of sorts and though they never met face to face after the Battle of Hogwarts they'd never really lost touch either.

But that was not to say that Harry didn't owe the Slytherin a great deal, regardless of the help he'd provided, because he did.

In a moment of panic, bright with the budding of obsession and the need to escape London, he'd turned to the only person he could think of that'd judge him fairly without sugar coating or scorn. He'd spilled his guts about Voldemort to Draco, his depression and his growing desperation to find an unspoken truth and within hours he'd received a reply from his friend; a single paragraph telling him to go, that he wasn't bound to his fame and he could do whatever he wanted.

Be whoever he wanted.

"HARRY POTTER YOU BETTER LET ME THROUGH THIS BLOODY FLOO RIGHT NOW OR YOU'LL REALLY BE SORRY!"

He let out a resigned sigh before rising from his chair, "Worse than any Howler I've ever received, I'm sure of it."

Harry left the others in stunned silence as he walked down the halls towards the sitting room, taking a deep breath before flicking his wand, opening the Floo for the unmistakable storm that was demanding entrance.

As predicted, it only took a few moments before the hurricane known as Draco Malfoy stepped through the sudden roar of green flame. His eyes were absolutely livid, his lips pressed together in an unbelievably tight line and without even having to look, Harry knew his fingers would be clenched around his wand so tightly that they'd undoubtedly be white.

His apparent surprise at the messy haired wizard's unchanged appearance only lasted a mere fraction of a second before Draco started shouting, "I know you're responsible for this Potter!"

He shook a half crumbled piece of paper angrily in his fist, an owl from the Ministry no doubt, before he jabbed a finger into Harry's chest, "Only you! Only you would have the audacity to do something SO BLOODY STUPID, POTTER!"

Harry's green eyes widened and he raised his hands up defensively, palms out in surrender, "Draco, I -"

Malfoy cut him off with a sneer, "Don't you dare try to insult my intelligence. You're back in London for less than four months and suddenly Azkaban has a breakout! That has your reckless name all over it, Potter!"

Confusion darkened the Gryffindor's gaze, his lips pulling down in a frown, "How did you know I was back in London?"

"My source of knowledge isn't what we're talking about! We're talking about you breaking my father out of prison without telling me!"

A bright, entertained smile broke out across the wizard's face as he dropped his hands, "Well that's good to know!"

Draco was not amused by his cheek, that much was instantly obvious, but he was correct in assuming the worst of it was over when the blonde didn't immediately begin yelling at him again, "What's good to know?"

His voice was low and steady, the underlying threat of what should happen if Harry made an unnecessary joke clear, even to somebody as oblivious as the boy-who-lived. "You're not upset about me breaking into Azkaban, you're just mad that I didn't let you in on it."

The blonde's sigh was strained, "So you don't deny breaking into Azkaban."

Harry's frown returned but unlike before it was laced with amusement, "To be fair I didn't even have to break in. I just walked in and walked out."

Draco's glared at him.

"Annnnd I may or may not have taken Lucius out with me."

The angry blonde opened his mouth to retort only to have his voice stolen by the soft spoken arrival of his father. "…Draco?"

It was a moment of sentiment, the way their identical grey eyes met in a shared glance of stunned silence as the younger Malfoy approached him, his posture stiff and controlled before he threw his arms around his father. The love and mutual respect between them was obvious as Lucius wrapped his arms around his son, his only child, returning the display of affection wholeheartedly before they proudly pulled away from each other.

"It's good to see you, my son."

The younger wizard smiled, "And I, you, father."

In that moment, any of Harry's questions about the relationship between father and son were answered. He may have been cold and aloof at times, but Lucius loved his son and it was apparent that the sentiment was unmistakably returned.

However, the moment only lasted a second and before he could enjoy the attention being directed else where, Harry was once again the focus of a confused and angry Malfoy, "You still have a lot of explaining to do, Potter!"

The teen in question sighed, "Don't I always?" But he shook his head, "There's way too much to explain. I just really need you to trust me this one time, Draco."

He was irritated, that much was obvious by the blazing grey eyes, but as Draco surveyed his surroundings, he began to realize that Harry was, probably, right. The backlash for his father fleeing Azkaban would be a big enough issue for him to deal with on his own and after recognizing the presence of a wizard that was reported dead some years before and another man, an unnatural looking wizard with white hair, his body devoid of all color, the young aristocrat knew that whatever this was was something he didn't want to be intimately involved in.

"Alright, Potter."

Relief shown bright and apparent within the Avada Kadavra green eyes of his once rival as the blonde shifted his weight to the other side, "I won't ask what you're up to, but I still need to know what you want me to do with this mess you've just dumped me in the middle of."

Harry at least had the decency to appear guilty about the situation he'd caused before returning to a more serious state of mind, "Time. That's what we need."

Draco's eyes narrowed, "How much time, Potter?"

White teeth worried the soft flesh of his lower lip as Harry considered all that needed to be done. He didn't want to deal with the situation surrounding Lucius and his escape until they'd resurrected Voldemort, but it'd take at least a day for them to recuperate before they'd be ready to take on a dementor, not to mention the fact that he still needed to get to Ollivander's for wands.

He had all the things necessary to Transfigure Voldemort's new body, but he would need to finish the dementor wand before he could start and the spellwork couldn't be done in under twelve hours no matter how powerful he was. Not to mention the fact that they still needed a sacrifice for the ritual itself.

Harry huffed with frustration. There was still so much to do and so little time.

"Five days. Can you try to keep the escape from the Daily Prophet for five days?"

Pale brows rose to near comical heights at the declaration, "Merlin, Potter. It isn't enough that you've thrown me into this without warning but now you want me to work like a slave?"

Despite his harsh words, the edge behind them was dull, lacking in any usual scathing undertones and Draco sighed, "I'll do my best, but try and hurry. And keep me informed on a need to know basis, Potter."

Harry nodded as Draco swept from the room and through the floo with only a brief nod of departure towards his father.

Barty immediately turned towards the teen, "Why five days?"

Clearly emotionally exhausted, the wizard dropped into one of the soft leather chairs in front of the fireplace, quickly closing off his connection to the Floo network with a flick of his wand before making a move to answer.

"The main reason I'm resurrecting Voldemort is so that he can attempt to fix Great Wizarding Britain and what direction he wants to go with the Azkaban breakout is probably gonna be a major starting point towards that goal, so I'd rather let him decide where we go with that."

A frown marked the eldest Malfoy's lips, "If what you've told us about your plan is true, I think we'll need more than five days, Potter."

Harry shook his head, "No, you didn't listen. We have five days until the Daily Prophet finds out about your escape. That'll give us about ten or eleven days total before we absolutely have to make a move."

Barty nodded, nearly surprised by the amount of thought the green eyed wizard put into their plan despite not having much time to think about it. He licked his lower lip, eyes dark with thought before he glanced back towards Harry, "Then we'll just have to roll with that."

The other three males in the room looked at him for explanation as he continued, looking at Harry first, "While we're resting you can go study the workings of the human body. You said you'd already started right?"

Harry nodded, "I'm just about done. If I really put my mind to it, it shouldn't take that much longer."

Barty hummed thoughtfully, "Well, Death could go retrieve wands for us."

Harry chuckled and waved off the idea, "That won't be necessary. Ollivander owes me a favor and he'll be happy to do it."

Both elder's looked shocked to realize that the legendary wand maker was indebted to Harry before Lucius recalled the near end of the second war when Potter released the prisoners behind held at Malfoy Manor, Ollivander among them.

"What about the dementor wand?"

Harry's brows pulled together with question, "What about it?"

Lucius perched himself in the chair across from their host, his eyes alight with strategic planning, "You said the cloak needed to be soaked in basilisk venom. How long will it need before it's ready to be made into a wand?"

Death moved to stand beside his ward, "A full day at least. Two would be better."

Each of the four males sighed, appearing thoughtful on the best way to go about things before Harry sat forward, scooting to the edge of his seat, "Alright, so we work with that."

Green eyes narrowed in focused thought at the teen silently mapped the direction of their time table, "We'll send for Ollivander today, he can make the wands and they should be done by the second day."

Unable to sit still as his train of thought raced faster and faster along the track, Harry stood and began pacing in front of the fireplace, "While we're waiting, the two of you can recover, maybe think of ways to incapacitate a dementor and I can study the spellwork. When your wands are finished, we go over the plan and get the cloak strands."

As if pulled taunt by a leash, the messy haired wizard paused, tapping his fingertips against his upper arm thoughtfully, "It'll be tight, but I think we can do it."

Death hummed his approval, "Very good, Harry."

The teen summoned a quill and parchment, quickly filling it with his messy scrawl before sealing it with a flourish of his wand, "Can one of you have this delivered to the wandmaker?"

Death barely had enough time to take the sealed envelope before Harry was dashing from the room, leaving the rest of them to stare after the merciless storm that claimed to be human.

* * *

 

**May 19th, 2009**

Endless hours seemed to pass as Harry once again found himself in the library, surrounded by dozens of open books and scattered bits of parchment. When Death told the green eyed wizard that he'd need an in-depth understanding of how the human body functioned, he'd neglected to mention exactly how much of a task it'd prove to be.

The basics were fairly simple to understand, the layout of blood vessels, nerves, muscles and bones, but the more he read, the more complicated it became. The sheer size of the network that resided within each and every human being was dizzying in its complexity. Everything was connected to everything else in its own way and one slip, a single mistake could cause it to fail.

But that too was based on circumstance.

While the human body was undeniably fragile in its inner workings, it was also exceptionally durable. Nearly all systems could be in the process of failing and it could still manage to survive and, if treated correctly, recover.

Harry sighed in exhaustion, raking his fingers through his untameable hair as he continued pouring over his hastily scrawled notes, paying special attention to the systems he couldn't quite wrap his head around.

"How's it coming?"

Harry lifted his head, turning to look at Barty as the elder wizard approached, "Slowly."

The elder nodded before plopping down into the chair opposite of him, his observant hazel eyes taking in the dark circles below Harry's eyes and the lack of energy sitting stark against his features. Though he hadn't sought out a mirror, Harry knew what he must've looked like, tired and worn out but refusing to stop.

There wasn't time for him to be tired, not really, especially not when the future relied on his diligence and he would have all the time in the world to sleep when he was dead.

Not that he'd manage that feat anytime soon.

A small chuckle bubbled up to his lips at the ridiculous thought but he waved off the dark haired wizard's obvious curiosity, "Is there a reason you're here."

Barty's lips pressed together in a thin line as he silently debated whether or not to mention his concern, before he decided against it. "Lucius and I think we might know how to lure out and contain a dementor."

That certainly got the teen's attention.

Where he'd previously been dividing his attention between the Ravenclaw and his studies he now sat at full attention, his unwavering focus centered completely on the darker haired man.

Without a word, Barty pulled a wrapped bundle of parchment from his robes and unrolled it, laying it out across the table over Harry's notes, "Malfoy Manor was obviously the first place the Ministry sent the dementors to look but I'm sure they weren't surprised that he wasn't there. The Malfoys have been around for quite some time, that much is obvious since they're such a renown pureblood line, and as such they have many properties just sitting around."

The dark haired wizard tapped the unrolled parchment, "This particular villa hasn't been used in a very long time and it's supposed to be a secret from the Ministry, but it isn't. It's secrecy is a facade and Lucius knows that."

Harry immediately caught up with what the dark wizard was implying, "So it'd make sense in the Ministry's mind that Lucius would go there because they don't know that he knows that it's being watched."

Barty nodded, "Exactly. I was thinking we could position Lucius there and simply wait for the scout. They won't send an entire colony of dementors until they know he's actually there. So we wait, take what we need from it and escape before the Ministry realizes that it's missing."

Harry drummed his fingers along the paper, humming thoughtfully as he stared down at the layout of the villa. It was backed by a set of mountains and cultivated forests stood on either side of the road's entrance. The bottlenecked entrance would definitely give them an added bonus in their attack.

"Do you have any thoughts on how to actually contain the dementor?"

In a near mirror image of what he'd done the previous evening, Barty leaned his chair back on two legs, balancing it easily as he considered the teen's question, "I was thinking that maybe we could keep it cornered in a three way Patronus while Death clips the cloak."

Harry beamed, "That's.. actually quite clever."

Entertainment darted across the elder's face and he snorted, clearly amused, "As you so bluntly stated last night, I was a Ravenclaw, Harry. That's sort of what we're known for."

Barty's previously discarded sense of seriousness returned as he dropped his chair forward. "I was originally hoping that you'd be able to take the cloak strands since Death is likely to have the most powerful Patronus, but I don't think that'd work."

Harry frowned, his metaphorical quills rising in defense. 'Why not? I'm a powerful wizard, Crouch. I think I could handle it."

Barty appeared almost taken aback at the sudden change of pronouns but quickly caught the air of defensiveness surrounding the green eyed wizard. "Well, being around a dementor is one thing, but to actually touch one is quite another."

The elder wizard paused for a moment to consider the flow of his thoughts before continuing, "Not many people realize this, but a dementor's cloak isn't just a fabric that they wear. It's part of them, like a second skin."

Twin brows rose in a display of surprise as Harry considered the elder's words. "So you mean..?"

Barty nodded. "Yeah, we'll essentially be taking strips of dementor's skin, and I don't think it's going to be very happy about that."

Harry snorted at the sheer audacity of that claim, thinking that those words in themselves could be the understatement of all understatements. "Point taken."

"Which is why I think it'll be smart to have Death take the cloak strips. He'll probably be immune to the crippling fear that the creature will produce to protect itself and I'm pretty sure that he'll be more equipped to handle any threat that it presents while we try to keep it contained."

Barty glanced back at the dark haired wizard from the corner of his eye. "Besides, I hear you've got a pretty impressive Patronus, Potter."

Harry didn't comment on the nature of his Patronus, seeing the statement as more of a closing to his argument than a question. Instead he chose to direct the flow of conversation elsewhere. "Did Ollivander get the new wands all squared away?"

Barty nodded, pulling the dark stick of ebony from his robes. "Yeah, it didn't take him long at all. Mine was a bit more complicated than Lucius' but it worked out. We should be fully recuperated and ready to take on the dementor by tomorrow morning."

Harry nodded in understanding, a deep yawn pulling from his lips unexpectedly as he leaned back in his chair, the onslaught of his work beginning to catch up with him at an alarming rate. He could feel the sharpness of his mind, the quick wit of his understanding fading in a demand for rest and though Harry was loath to stop when he was so close, the teen knew he was way overdue for a good night's sleep.

Just out of curiosity, Harry cast a quick Tempus, sighing as he realized that it was, once again, almost night. "We should make sure to be there by early afternoon at the latest. I don't think the dementor will come around til the evening but it would be beneficial to know the landscape."

Barty chuckled as he stood from his spot but made no move to discredit the idea, not bothering to reach for the villa's blueprints. "When did you become so clever, little Lord?"

Though in the process of gathering his notes and other essential materials, Harry stilled at the title he'd been given without prompting. It was strange to hear such a thing come from the mouth of somebody so utterly devoted to the Dark Lord but Harry couldn't find it within himself to make the correction.

From Barty, it was a compliment; the highest of which he would be capable, Harry was sure, but even then, he didn't feel entirely comfortable with it.

Sirius' reaction had proven that those in the afterlife could view his actions if they so wished, that the dead could see and judge the living and there was no way for Harry to be sure that Tom Riddle wasn't patiently waiting in the afterlife to kill him. The green eyed teen was fairly sure that wasn't the case and he wouldn't immediately be killed but there was no telling how Voldemort would react to him. If all was as it was before, Harry had no doubt that the Dark Lord would've tried to collect him. He was, after all, a man driven by power, and what was more powerful than one having Death at their beck and call? Nothing. Literally, almost nothing was more powerful than that, but the fact of the matter was that Voldemort wouldn't be the same. He'd have the entirety of his soul, and though Harry had no doubt that the man would still be power hungry and ambitiously driven, he could perceive Harry as a threat and try to end him.

That, of course, would most likely backfire since he was favored by Death, but it would still be a huge blow to his ego, as well as his pride. A sure setback.

But then again, if Voldemort could see him then he probably knew all of that already. Perhaps he'd wait and try to stab him in the back at a later time, or maybe, just maybe, he would be grateful and Harry would be safe from his wrath. As he'd thought countless times, there was really no telling when it came to Lord Voldemort.

The paradox factor was dizzying.

"Don't think so much, Harry, you've got enough on your plate as it is."

Avada Kedavra green eyes looked up from where he'd been mindlessly zoning out to meet Barty's hazel gaze. "Was it really that obvious what I was thinking about?"

The elder laughed. "No, just a lucky guess."

Harry had his doubts but he said nothing, only offering a thankful smile as he gathered the rest of his stuff and accompanied Barty out of the library, fully intending to take advantage of the chance to sleep while he still could.

* * *

 

**May 20th, 2009**

The villa was beautiful, just as Harry knew it would be.

Malfoys weren't in the habit of denying themselves the many luxuries life had to offer and that much became very apparent as the dark haired wizard stood before the towering structure. It certainly wasn't the size of Malfoy Manor but the villa was large in its own right. Two stories of lengthy stone walls adorned with ceiling length windows along the outside and hefty magical barriers. It was lovely, surrounded by carefully crafted gardens blooming with exotic flowers in all colourful shapes and sizes. Long stretches of ivy claimed the stone walls, giving it the appearance of age, a semblance of nature's surrealism as it coiled around the columns with all the affection of a long time lover.

The forests on either side of the gorgeous structure were dark and brimming with magic. It had the healthy thrum of connection and though the ancient trees weren't nearly as old as the great pines that towered within the Forbidden Forest, there's was no question of their age. The trunks were thick and sturdy, bound tightly to the ground by the gnarled roots that'd begun to show below the soil.

Though he'd been surrounded by such things since he'd learned of the Wizarding World, Harry couldn't help but to feel that the place was magical, in a way. It had an air to it, an atmosphere that couldn't be mistaken as anything other than alive and sentient.

"This was to be Draco's."

Harry looked up at the tall blonde wizard that seemed to appear out of thin air beside him, "When he was younger, Draco expressed interest in having this villa as his own when he married. His desire for it eventually waned but I always planned on gifting it to him regardless."

Harry frowned at the apparent past tense of the statement, "And now?"

Lucius sighed in mock annoyance, "My son can be quite changeable."

Harry laughed at the humorous turn that their momentarily serious conversation had taken but he didn't pry. He merely contented himself with the knowledge that the elder Malfoy was capable of in-depth emotional connection and that, perhaps, the time would eventually come where they could speak of such things without the obvious defensive mechanisms.

Harry tilted his head up, "Barty and I scanned the surrounding area this morning. The villa is empty and the forests are devoid of anything remotely human. We should be good to go."

A small frown touched the elder's lips, "When one is taking the chance of being caught by dementors and returned to Azkaban, they'd rather not hear the word should, Mr. Potter."

Harry snorted in amusement before turning away from the taller wizard, "Don't worry, we've got an ace in the hole."

Lucius arched a carefully sculpted brow in barely disguised questioning, "I beg your pardon?"

Despite his greatest efforts to be civil and mature, it took every scrap of will Harry possessed not to burst out laughing at the pureblood's ignorance, "It's a muggle phrase. It means - you know what, never mind. Just don't worry."

Harry quickly Apparated away, unable to keep the smile off his face as he returned to the cliff's edge to wait, perching himself alongside the other two wizards "Now we wait."

* * *

 

**May 20th, 2009**

As the brilliant rays of sunlight began to steadily dim with the approach of night, little was said between the three wizards. All eyes remained on the area surrounding the villa, watching, waiting for the approach of their prey.

In the moment, Harry felt much like a hawk, high above the limitations of the ground, constantly on the lookout for the unsuspecting form of his next meal and just as the raven haired teen started to feel his edge beginning to dull, the chill of an early winter permeated the air.

It was unnatural, the drop in temperature as the dark creature approached. It wasn't visible yet but the strategic teen had suspected as much. For all that they lacked, dementors had a certain wit about them, a capability for cunning and Harry would've been much more surprised had the creature taken the easiest route.

It would move upon the villa from the shadow of the forest, the only question was on which side would it come. The unnatural air was, of course, an exceedingly helpful warning but beyond that, there wasn't much of a way to tell where the being was within the dense pines.

"West side, far left."

Death's smooth baritone voice directed the other's eyes and they quickly caught sight of it, the ebony flow of its cloak nearly invisible against the cliff's face.

"Remember, once attacked it will fight harder than any dementor you've ever faced. I can't tell you what you might see or feel, but be prepared."

Harry and Barty shared a nod before watching the villa, waiting for Lucius to make his appearance, and the blonde didn't disappoint. Mere moments after Death's quiet warning the aristocratic male made his way from the house, drawing the dementor further out into the open.

Lengthy seconds ticked by them, the slow and steady flow of time sluggish and lazy, crawling through a thick molasses of anticipation before the creature finally began to advance towards the blonde and without a word between them, the three wizards Disapparated with a distinct pop.

The moment Harry landed, the Patronus Charm was on his lips, a wall of pure light merging effortlessly with the other two wizards, forming an encompassing triangle around the angry creature.

And it was beyond furious, of that there was no doubt.

In the span of a single second, the dark being transformed its behavior from cautious to entirely animalistic, bashing angrily against the walls of their makeshift prison. Unearthly cries rang true from the unlit center, plunging the world around them into absolute darkness as the already low temperature began dropping at radical intervals.

It was terrifying, the way the creature before them seemed to suck the very light from the Earth, leaving their Patronus barrier dim and flickering while all three wizard's fought to keep it alive.

"ANYTIME NOW, DEATH!"

The enraged dementor whipped its focus around to the startled youth, a sharp cry screaming from its lipless mouth before Harry was assaulted by the radiating darkness, his heart slamming wildly within the wizard's chest and as the seconds ticked by, all he could think about was the fact that he couldn't seem to connect with his mind.

Flashes of the Savior's life passed before his eyes, each more unrecognizable than the last until finally the happy memory he'd chosen lingered intense and entirely to realistic before his very eyes.

There, on the grassy slope beside Hogwarts, a much younger Harry Potter stood beside his newly discovered Godfather, speaking to him softly as his friends lingered beneath the momentarily stilled branches of the Whomping Willow. There was no animosity between them, nothing but the hesitantly spoken words of two souls that longed to find each other, to hear what the other had to say but as he looked on, the solid memory he'd chosen began to twist and warp as brilliant green eyes looked on with growing horror.

Sirius' eyes no longer looked on with calm acceptance.

Instead they appeared as he remembered them from Spinner's End, enraged and unwilling to accept anything Harry said or did. His mouth was twisted in a nasty sneer that reminded the teenage wizard, strangely enough, of Severus Snape dealing with unruly Gryffindors. It was lined with loathing, the unmistakable desire to be anywhere else and as Harry watched on his heart clenched.

He knew, of course, that what he was seeing hadn't happened, but it was real. He could smell the scent of late spring, the cloying scent of pollen. He could see the beautiful castle as it was long before the Battle of Hogwarts, lit up as a bright beacon against the darkness of night. It was all there, just as he remembered it, except for Sirius.

Unadulterated panic dug its merciless claws into the Gryffindor's throat, squeezing tightly as the teen struggled to remember where he was and what he was doing, as he desperately sought to remember how his Godfather actually looked all those years ago but he couldn't. The happy nature of his memory was fading, leaving his section of the Patronus prison weak and quivering as he fought to hold on.

If it escaped the prison, they would all be fucked. Though Harry wasn't often one for crude language, he could think of no other alternative phrase that so accurately described what awaited the three of them if the dementor managed to force his section of the shield away.

"SNAP OUT OF IT, POTTER!"

Lucius' iron strong tone effectively captured the creatures attention, drawing the poisonous nature of Harry's vision from before his eyes like venom from a wound but before he could make a move to strengthen his side of the triangle, another vision was upon them.

Only this time, it hadn't come from his own memories.

The-Boy-Who-Lived wondered if the others had been able to see what he'd experienced but as he looked upon the dimly lit halls of Malfoy Manor, he had his answer.

Furious waves of magic tainted the air, making it nearly impossible to breath but as Harry stood among the chaos, he recognized the memory before it even played, despite not having been there first hand.

It was the end of the war, the exact moment Voldemort realized that Harry was hunting his Horcruxes.

Blood stained the floor, hot and heavy beneath his sneakers and as Harry looked down he nearly gagged. The bodies of all those present laid still and unmoving around him, their eyes milky and unknowing as they stared ahead. Voldemort towered above them, the hem of his cloak soaked with the sticky carmine substance, insanity alight within his ruby eyes.

The Malfoys stood silently among it all, waiting for the terror to end, but unlike the last time Harry saw this particular glimpse of Voldemort through the mind link, he didn't exit with Nagini in a sudden pop of Apparation. Haunting vermilion eyes turned towards the youngest Malfoy and within the span of a single moment, Draco was on the floor, screaming as the Cruciatus ravaged his body.

It was striking, the way the dark red substance sat stark against Malfoy's ghostly pale flesh, the way it stained his perfect blonde hair as he writhed in utter agony, slowly losing his mind in an attempt to escape the pain.

Until finally, with an unholy shriek of sheer unadulterated fury, the darkness melted, dripping from their vision like oil over glass, revealing Death at their center, his colorless fingers standing stark against the radiating darkness of the dementor's throat.

It hung limp and lifeless within the white-haired immortal's grasp, before he released it, watching as the corpse seemed to sink into the very Earth like water, turning the grass where it'd fallen black and lifeless. The four of them watched with a certain amount of horrified curiosity as the sour ground began to spread, turning the surrounding plants brown, killing everything in its path before coming to a sudden stop as a fresh sprig of Deadly Nightshade broke through the ground's surface at its heart.

It was beautiful, in a dark and terrifying kind of way but in that moment, Harry couldn't find it in himself to enjoy the rare display. All he could do was fall backwards, his chest heaving with ragged, uneven breaths as he laid against the dew covered blades of grass surrounding the darkened area.

His mind was fried, the flow of his thoughts labored and chaotic as Harry tried to dispel the unnatural sadness that the dementor brought to his heart. He knew what he'd seen wasn't real, that the dementor was the cause of his panic, but as the teen glanced over towards Lucius, he knew he wasn't alone.

In the quiet stretch of silence that followed, Harry felt somebody sit next to him, "Here, I've been told this helps."

Bright green eyes looked up at his mentor with the slightest smirk before he took the piece of offered chocolate with a bittersweet smile. It reminded him of Remus and the very first time they'd met, the familiar soft spoken tone as the amber eyed werewolf offered Harry the sweet treat.

"Thank you."

The green eyed wizard took the chocolate without complaint, sighing contently as the sweet brush of sugar soothed his nerves before a sudden thought struck the teen, Harry's features twisting into a look of startled surprise, "Hang on, how did you do that?"

The green eyed wizard looked to Death, his face thoughtful, "I thought you couldn't kill a dementor!"

Though rather undignified, the white haired immortal couldn't help but to snort, "There's a difference between dying naturally and being touched by Death, Harry."

The elder shook his head, clearly still amused before getting up and offering chocolate to the other two wizards, leaving Harry to grin stupidly at his back before falling back against the grass.

* * *

 

**May 20th, 2009**

After returning to Grimmauld Place, there was little time for celebration. In fact, the three of them (since Death wasn't plagued by basic human needs) celebrated by taking a quick breakfast before going to bed, each wizard beyond tired.

Only the white haired wizard remained up and running, tasked with beginning the preparations for the wand itself.

Though difficult he'd managed to acquire the necessary strips of cloak but as Ignotus stared down at the unnatural material, he couldn't help but to shutter at the idea of any being willingly bonding to this particular core.

Despite having been severed from the furious dementor hours earlier, the strip of flesh like material still continued to move, writhing within his grasp in a manner quite similar an angry serpent biding its time. It was light, airy in a sort of nonexistent way but also heavy, weighing down against his palm like a physical manifestation of negativity and despair.

Common knowledge told the elder that this particular wand would be powerful, something that hadn't been seen in many years and though Death trusted Harry, he wasn't sure that the thought in itself was reassuring.

With careful consideration, the immortal ripped the writhing piece of material into three equal strands before braiding it with little effort, sharp unfathomable eyes scanning his work for mistakes. Finding none, Death laid the core gently into the well-crafted yew cradle, observing the way the wood seemed to come alive, molding the dementor's cloak firmly to the bottom curve.

It was interesting really, to see the way wands practically made themselves. It was something that could only he described as magical; the way the wood clung and bonded to their presented cores without any prompting, only to still, waiting for the powerful binding magic given by a wizard fully capable of the mysterious magic involved with wandlore.

Keeping a cautious eye on the partially completed wand, Death extracted the vial of Basilisk venom. It was milky, sloshing ominously in the crystal container as the immortal pulled the stopper free, tilting it with steady hands, watching as the thick liquid drizzled down along the cloak strands. He watched with bated breath, hoping the core wouldn't reject the addition. It was a rarity for that to happen, but it wasn't unprecedented. The rejection did happen from time to time, usually when working with more temperamental wand cores such as Veela hair but Death waited patiently for a few more moments before breathing a sigh of relief.

He'd need to return in a few hours to layer on another coat of venom, but for the time being, all was well.

Death hummed, placing a clear glass lid over the merging wand, layering it with a number of nasty wards. He didn't think that'd be necessary, but should anybody other than himself or the three sleeping wizards try to lift the lid, they'd be in for a very unpleasant surprise.

* * *

 

**May 21st, 2009**

Harry Potter was not usually a wizard that many would associate with desire for revenge in the form of flesh and blood, but that didn't mean that the capability wasn't buried deep within the cockles of his heart.

In his own opinion, Harry firmly believed that there was a place in the world for true, genuine hatred and despite the fact that he was often viewed as a very gentle and compassionate person, Harry too had room in his heart for hatred. It didn't happen often, not really, usually just a flash of momentarily angry displeasure or, at worst, absolutely loathing but every once and awhile, Harry met somebody that he believed would be much better off dead.

It was these thoughts that circled Harry's brain as he waited patiently within the painstakingly revolting pink home of one Dolores Umbridge.

He'd thought long and hard about what witch or wizard he wanted to use as the centerpiece for his sacrifice. The ritual itself demanded a being of magical blood that was fairly powerful and though the toadlike woman he chose wasn't the next Albus Dumbledore by any means, Death assured him that she would work just fine, Especially now that they had two extra wizards to draw additional power from.

It was a pleasant thought, to know that this vile woman would finally get what was coming to her. She'd escaped once, managing to get herself out of the nearly impossible situation with the centaurs only to return two years later to make his life a living hell. Though Voldemort was to blame for Harry becoming the most wanted wizard in Great Britain, the green eyed teen had no doubt in his mind that she'd maliciously enjoyed slapping his face across the countless Undesirable No. 1 posters.

The fact that she'd flourished in the Ministry with the aid of the locket horcrux, able to keep hundreds of dementors at bay with her single feline Patronus spoke immeasurable volumes about the cruel nature of her character.

But not this time.

This time Dolores Umbridge would get exactly what she deserved and as the annoyingly chipper woman in pink finally came home, Harry spared her no sense of guilt or pity as he hit her square in the chest with a well aimed Imperious.

* * *

 

**May 22nd, 2009**

Under the glass case, the dementor wand sat silent and ominous.

Over the course of the days that followed the cloaks retrieval, each of the four wizards took turns dripping small amounts of basilisk venom over the black threads in the fragile yew casing. There wasn't any particular reasoning behind all of their participation, only the knowledge that, by doing so, they were each taking part in something that would change the world. It was a bit sentimental on all their parts, but none of the four seemed inclined to make jokes or comments about the nature of their devotion.

Despite being in a rush, Harry was keen to take Death's advice and allow the wandcore two days to absorb the venom and settle. They'd applied the final coat and now all that was left was to wait for Ollivander to arrive and seal the connection.

It was not to say that Harry wasn't confident in his wand making abilities, he'd made a couple in the past when absolutely necessary, but the final binding was difficult and the dark haired wizard had no doubt that the dementor core would make it even harder. With something as important as this, the teen wanted an experienced wandmaker in his stead and there was nobody better than Ollivander.

"The escape should hit the papers tomorrow."

Harry sighed, not bothering to look over at the aristocratic blonde, "I'm surprised Draco managed to keep them off the trail this long."

Lucius snickered, crossing his legs in a posh manner as he leaned against the tall back of his arm chair, sharing a look with the abnormally quiet Ravenclaw to his left, "Of course he did, Potter. He's a Malfoy, and a Slytherin."

The-boy-who-lived rolled his eyes shamelessly, his lips curling with a faint smile as he heard Crouch snicker beside him before the teen looked to the empty fireplace, his voice quiet and unsure as budding seeds of doubt began to make themselves known, "Do you think it'll work?"

His two companions were silent, both shocked by the uncertainty his voice painted. Had Harry been looking at him, he might have even thought Lucius appeared surprised at the dark haired wizard's lack of confidence, "Of course it'll work."

The sheer nature of the aristocrat's factual tone made the teen look up, his brows drawn together in a look of confusion that made the elder sigh. Lucius glanced back over at Barty, almost as if he were praying for strength before turning back to Harry.

"Potter, do you realize who you are?"

Harry frowned, obviously not making the connection, "Of course I do, what's that supposed to mean?"

Lucius was not a man of great patience and as he scooted forward in his chair it became apparent to anybody who knew him that, behind his calm composure, the blonde was having a hard time not snapping at the youth, "You're a foolish boy that decided to kill the greatest Dark Lord of our age and succeeded."

The bluntly spoken statement reminded Harry of Professor Snape and for the briefest moment the Gryffindor wondered just how close the two Death Eaters had been before returning to the current conversation, "That was just because of the proph -"

Lucius sneered, not bothering to even cut him off with actual words before he dropped gracefully back against his chair, the melting ice-cubes clinking soundfully against the side of the elder's half emptied glass of Scotch, "Please, Potter. If I wasn't positive you meant that I'd accuse you of fishing for obvious compliments."

Harry's lips pulled down into a distinct frown as he turned back to the fireplace, the briefest layer of hurt circling his heart at the elder's dismissal and Barty's continued silence before he heard a sharp sigh.

"Listen and listen well because I doubt I'll ever say this again." Lucius paused, waiting for the teens unadulterated attention before continuing, "You're the very definition of 'possible', Potter. You've accomplished the impossible more times than any of us are actually aware, I'm sure."

The blonde regarded him with a watchful look, taking a small sip of his drink, "You successfully outwitted the most brilliant wizard of the millennia and let's not forget that you managed to win the Tri-Wizard Tournament," Grey eyes darted to Crouch's hazel ones, "regardless of Crouch's hints."

Barty finally smiled, leaning forward to balance his elbows on his knees, looking much more like a young and careless adult than a battle-worn Death Eater, "Yeah Harry, you defeated a Basilisk at the age of twelve and went toe-to-toe with the Ministry during your fifth year."

The blonde aristocrat chuckled, giving a thoughtful nod, "Merlin, Potter, you broke in and out of Gringotts Bank on the first try. Give yourself a bit of credit."

Harry opened his mouth to speak only to be cut off by the roar of bright green flames, the words of thanks quickly forgotten as Ollivander set foot out of their fireplace, wiping soot from his shoulders.

All throughout his time in the wizarding world, the-boy-who-lived always felt that there was something different about Ollivander, a sort of cryptic wisdom that made him appear ageless. Almost otherworldly in a way, and the moment the wandmaker's bright blue eyes took in the Gryffindor's face, he knew that the elder knew what he was.

"Ah, what a surprise, Mr. Potter. I wondered if you would be the one."

The other two wizards in the room appeared surprised at the statement but Harry only gave a resigned sigh, "Yeah. An interesting development for sure."

Ollivander chuckled at his flat tone, his eyes bright with unspoken knowledge, "And where is your companion, if I may be so bold as to ask?"

The teen continued to ignore the increasingly gobsmacked expressions of the two other adults in the room, his lips thinning in a near frown, "He's tearing down the wards around our wand."

A coy little smile touched the old man's lips as he gestured towards the unspoken room where they kept it, "Lead on, Mr. Potter."

If the others were surprised that Ollivander knew where the wand was without prompting, they didn't stay, both dark wizards merely constant to walk a few steps behind the pair.

Ollivander turned to the immortal Gryffindor, "I must admit, I'm quite curious about your wand, as well as how all of this came to be."

Harry snorted, his amusement apparently returned, "I'll let you know after it's all over."

The teen didn't specify exactly what he was referring to but the elder seemed pleased regardless as they continued down through the winding hallways, not bothering to speak until they rounded the last corner, "Death?"

Color-changing eyes looked up, unspoken words of greeting quickly dying on the immortal's lips as he caught sight of the elder at Harry's side.

It was nearly comical, the way the white haired wizard froze, his inability to think of anything to say apparent on his face before the immortal pushed his surprise aside, standing at his full height to greet their guest, "Mr. Ollivander, it's an honor to meet you."

Harry's features pulled together in a look of confusion, "Hang on, didn't you meet him the other day when you delivered the note?"

The elder shook his head, "Barty wore a convincing Glamor and took the note himself."

Despite the green eyed wizard's desire to question Death further, he shook off his confusion, returning to the task at hand, "Is it ready?"

Seemingly grateful for the distraction, Death smirked, his focus shifting from their faces to the wand, "Yes. I added the last layer of Basilisk venom just before you walked in."

Ollivander raised a single white brow, "Basilisk venom? You've been busy, Harry."

The teen flushed but didn't comment, leading the elder over beside Death, watching as the experienced wandmaker looked over their work, "Thirteen and a half inches, a bit unlucky if I may say so, Mr. Potter." He hummed thoughtfully, continuing his inspection, "Yew if I'm not mistaken, reasonably pliant." But as his elderly fingers traveled down the length of the unsealed seam of wood, his fingers stilled, a slight shake to them, "Dementor's cloak and basilisk venom."

Wide eyes turned to look at him, and as the teen stood under Ollivander's intense scrutiny, he felt stripped down to the bare bones of his soul, the words like sandpaper against his throat, "Yes."

The elder turned back to the wand, his voice low, "I don't pretend to know what you're doing with this, but I have an idea. Be warned Mr. Potter, when I do this, you will have created something that cannot ever be undone."

Harry swallowed hard, his stomach twisting uncomfortably, "I know."

Ollivander nodded, his eyes darting over to linger on Death's face before pricking his wrinkled finger, muttering softly to himself as he ran the bleeding pad of his fingertip along the middle where both yew casings met. Magic thickened within the air, nearly drawing the very breath from their lungs before bursting unexpectedly, leaving the three other mortals shaky on their feet.

The wandmaker gingerly picked up the finished wand, weighing it in his palm, inspecting it with a close eye before laying it back on the table and stepping away, "It is done."

The teen nodded, meeting the serious gaze of the elder unflinching before Ollivander swept from the room without a word, leaving himself, Death, Lucius and Barty to follow.

Death was the first to snap out of his surprise, "Merlin, Harry."

The teen looked up at him in surprise, "What?"

Pale fingers raked through the immortal's colorless hair as he looked back down at his ward with a hiss, "Don't you know what that was?"

Harry, Barty and Lucius all shared a look, each silently asking the others if they had any idea what Death was talking about before Harry turned back to him with a questioning look, his cheeky nature peeking through, "Ollivander, wandmaker?"

In a rare show of a near mortal desperation for strength and patience Death paused, leaning against the hallway, a soft sigh pulling from his lips, "Garrick Ollivander isn't just some wandmaker. He's a true immortal, Harry."

Three sets of eyebrows skyrocketed at the declaration with Barty being the first to speak, "What do you mean? How can he be?"

Death shook his head before continuing on down the hall, "I don't know, but they exist. Human beings that never age, that go on through the ages. He's the first one I've ever personally met."

Harry frowned in obvious bewilderment, "Hang on, back up a second. What exactly does that mean?"

Ignotus glanced back at his young ward, his voice soft, "It means that he's been alive longer than me, Harry, and probably my predecessor too."

The small group finally reached the entrance of the den, each of them stunned into thoughtful silence by Death's declaration.

Ollivander's attention turned to back to the dark haired Gryffindor as they entered, his face solemn, "Be very cautious in your actions, Mr. Potter. The dead have seen things we can't even hope to imagine."

Harry wanted to ask how he could possibly know but the words refused to come, his limbs almost mechanical as he reached for the gold he'd promised the elder, only to be stunned as Ollivander waved it off, "I have no need for your gold, not this time."

Ollivander grabbed a fist full of Floo powder, his shoulders hunching over as he stepped into the gate, his eyes meeting Harry's for the last time, "Don't forget to come by when it's all over, Mr. Potter. I knew from the moment you bonded with the Holly and Phoenix wand that you were destined for great things, and I would love to know how all of this came to be."

And without waiting for a response, the man threw down the powder, calling out for Diagon Alley before being whisked away in a burst of green.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, I know I promised and I'm REALLY sorry. I really am. I know Voldemort hasn't been resurrected -.-" I know and I apologize but a bunch of other nifty stuff got in the way and just UGH, Lucius and Barty guys. They're chatty. I couldn't help it. Please forgive 3 However, Voldemort's Resurrection is 100% guaranteed in the next chapter. On my word as an author, I promise.
> 
> Much love


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